Needles can prick
Oxygen raptures cool blues
And life stares back
into eyes that have become accustomed
to laying in a mannequin
Allayed by involuntary ritual
and repetitive tasks
This droplet of crimson
glows as light waves flood
and as light waves become consumed
Because the red will still,
be red
The density of what it sings
remains
Its Fado begs
to be tasted, wiped,
and seen
Yet the needle
need not prick
for some carry their own Fado
that croons and trills
down
down
down
Telling stories as it too begs
to soak around and seep out of
the most secretive of rooms,
for the carrier to know
the word,
chosen
and yell out,
“Vita”
and be crowned
as bearer
Prostrate with used needles
on the sides,
given alms are made
for the one who released
the ichorous stream
that causes the Spring
to thunder
and the cosmos
to surrender
DearHeatherMarie 