Despise the doves.
They stole from us our shadows.
They swept through the black sky in all of their regal and forsaken arrogance.
With their sleek and greedy feathers, they soaked in the matutine ink, bathing themselves in our umbra, in our shade.
Absorbing…
Gaining the irrevocable weight of our liquid firmament, the darkness seeping onto their surface and melting into their skin.
Painted noir.
They are the crows, now.
Hoarse…
and carefree.
