muffled tears and handouts of cynicism

it was a quiet,
rainy afternoon
when you showed me
how the frame
of your bones
turned from pillars
to ruins
in just four seconds.

you were bare
in every scaling inch
of skin, feathers
detached-
falling like stones
through the cobwebs
between the nooks and
crannies of my fingers

and you kept asking
for the two cents
in my pocket

when all I could give you
was my sympathy
and lashes wrapped
in an expanse of iris.

there are no tears,
there is rain
but no petrichor.