Drunken Bird

I am the sun that curbs the sky of nightly drinks

of bloodred wine, a tar which seems to blot the

stars does gain a tone of ash sat within the lone urn.

We are the reach of star to star, marked with inks

that read ‘goodbye’ to twilight’s muted bliss.

I render dimday blue with my bright kiss. Tomorrow

don’t let sorrow forget me, once she forgets sorrow,

with every solemn moon dismissed, that borrows

my tone to make of her the reaper's loyal drunkard.

She cannot drink, though loveless, I reach my bird.