The night is full of abstractions

Behind her veil both oracle and daemon

The funereal march of my heart thwarts

All extrinsic panic, there is only my fidelity

Which has become itself a form of illness

If only my beloved would behold me

Seen through his eyes, I would be sated


My tears coalescence with the stars

How oft the same prayer forsaken?

Not a moment more can I give

To this cruel, tasteless world

And not to you either my darling

Let the rushing water purify

What your hands and lips disparaged

If not my life than let my death

Weigh upon your consciousness

Let it be known that I was

And ever will be yours


By morning the doves will have risen

Pale and histrionic, baring my soul

To places where no one else may follow

I may not find peace only your face etched in…

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