Icarus's Dom

It's nice 
to basque in
piano sounds
that percussion me despite
my tantrums
and reproches.

Swish, twirl,
slay
goes the mantle
of strings
that twist
into keys I forget.

Ain't no sizzles.
Ain't no shade.
You see yourselves as suns,
yet have no tails.

The brightest superstars,
a sun won't weave and wait
at wavering points across seconds,
across days.

A sun doesn't spin.
It revolves carefree
burning those stubborn enough
to get too close,
the poor things.

Excitement is for tiny people with tiny lives
and I, for one,
am thrilled.
A slow burn, supreme,
that lasts me longer
than a big bang.
The pleasure
of being Icarus's Dom:
unreal.

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