they are angels ;
milky-white, star-spun bells
from which sway twisting ribbons,
dancing tendrils of sterling light & water.
heavenly figures of alien purity
drifting in cold, windless corridors of black crystal.
hallowed places,
devoid of temporal rot.
their songs whisper to my shaken core.
stingers embedded in ivory flesh.
filling my veins with sweet poisons,
my mind with inane fantasies,
& wild compulsions.
ｎｏｔ ａ ｇｏｄ ｏｒ ａｎ ｉｄｏｌ，
ｂｕｔ ａ ｐａｒａｓｉｔｅ．