She held a needle there, Sowing black upon white In the din of my screams, Of my descension In the fragile night That I lost everything. She wanted for me Comfort, to be Something identical to the one I gave to her In the throne room While she sat, under the moon. I threw her resplendence, A shining wreath for her ascension To an almighty uprising Of glory atop majesty That I said would never die down To a state of black death. She comprehends Her life in threads and weavings. She shares to me A single black strand From her hair that rains To her shoulders and neck. She wants me In my darkness To have a smile, lasting On the drenched mile Where sweat runs from forehead To the underfoot. I lay here To count the blue stars In her eyes. I stay here To feel the burns from running blood, Among rawest lies.