Take my hand in yours, little fly. Let me cradle your flaking wings. There’s no need to flit away. No where left to go. No shits left to lick. No steaming bins ’round which to flutter. No foals’ faces left to dance on. It’s okay, I’ve got you.

It’s just you and me now, little fly. No one else. You can rest your weary shoulders. Cradle me in your flaking wings, and let’s watch the sun go down. One last time.