Once We Were Saints

Before there were elves there were saints
and we saddled them with the architecture
of our memory of a lost perfection. We said
this does not feel like dying when we were
passing out our skin turned to flame
ash spilled from our mouths it was raining in circles
dark oil fell from our eyes so thick was our sadness
like a rope frayed at the beginning of the day
spent on the filthy grass, your body next to mine.
A little evil, a little insane, but forgetting
where the boundaries were was good when despairing
for the last time.