Peregrine {Edited}

peregrine―
eyes feral and aglint with hunger
aerial morph of the winged huntress,
slow like liquid and plush upon one's thirst
        ―flow―
all the words,
the colors worn with names assigned
they don’t resonate,
it’s not their fever spike,
not their condition to be defined
not when pleasure alights the solar flare
        ―when silence escapes―
the clouds lend them form,
a simple pleasure not lost on tongues of currents,
a world in full rush,
as cars in screaming speed still the outside world
        ―stagnates their roll―
land,
a window-scape blur,
as dirt caked fingers shape the air,
pastel smear of dust and skin shed
        ―no farewells to bleed―
trees circulate,
their absence of defining lines,
where phantoms of secrets
steal woven avian breaths
their leaves expiring in the spark of astral chains
snapping with every vulpine wail
        ―headlight death in the thick of night―    
vultures circle,
pitch-on-pitch,
no rest for their hunger
their heights of hypnotic catastrophic inebriation,
steal from a grieving mind
        ―a hallowed grave―
shoulder gravel and rain hollow epitaph,
horizon wall of lunar eversongs
luring the acceleration,
beckoning to vacate the rear view
        ―a bare hand to suffocate―to amputate―from a world that can’t hold {me}
mirror shatters on concrete
a howl escapes,
leaked gasoline sparks and a glimpse,
eyes and padded paws keeping pace
―a wild thing frees ―

E.A. O'Connell