In that dark time
coldest before dawn
did you come to me;
Night’s Whisper.

You are as frail as falling leaves
or the whisper of a summer breeze.
Your alabaster skin,
eyes like a starless night,
lips blood red.
And your breath so sweet.

You folded those diaphanous wings
to your perfect frame.
You reached out to me
and I knew it was right
and enfolded you in my embrace.

I felt your heart race, or was it mine
as our lips touched in the lightest of caresses?
I was the artist painting that final gentle stroke.

Ours was a passion that could never be contained
and my dread at the thought of losing you forced my hand;
please forgive me for my terrible deed.

You were too delicate, too perfect to wear those harsh cold shackles
so I bound you with these spider’s silks.

I will never forget the terror I saw in your eyes
at once pleading, questioning, uncomprehending,
now dull and resigned, downcast and melancholy.

I have created this prison for you my love
and share it with you every moment of the day
and the long dark nights.

And so have you been these long years;
my prize that I can no longer take joy in,
my perfect love I can no longer bring myself to hold.