Your dreary web of shades,
Falls into my place,
From the world’s hidden face,
As we stand beside a banquet and its host,
Placing each memory to our shoulders,
Hoisting its intolerable presence.
With thy lavender scent,
From attire born to beckon.
You have a harmony to your voice,
And a grace to thy shoulders,
A tempting look,
In two orbs, of two eyes.
How wonderful you’ve grown,
In the thickets,
In the thorns, in the briar,
In the mire, when thou has been,
Nothing but blood.
Oh, have you come to see,
The community of flesh and phantom?
Oh, have you come to yearn,
For the petulance of children, and their moans?
Where we hail from,
In the void, and in the snow,
In the golden glow of a winter sunset,
In the silence of a winter’s morning,
We will dine,
On fruits and violet petals.
Death deals a merciful blow,
To our craving hearts.
My beauty with your feverish stare,
And thy wicked tongue.
Unfold your tresses for my unfurled lips,
And make a mockery of thyself,
Make one of golden roofs, and ornate gowns,
Of pleasant balls and moonlight glares,
From a moon so tolerant,
It would leave us aware.