Love is the long night
of alabaster charms in flint spark and aspic.
the tool of the swarm
that is the mind. and a virtue dark
in aspect.
love is the long night
of a windswept stillness. a dull fang in a blood trench.
the tool of a harm done.
that is the ' why ', and dumb luck -
of it all...
a small lurch from a daisy tomb
with bells on.
a chorus of humble giants
shrieking whispers
where the wind is swept away
into the void
As all voice is bluntly mute
on the stone tongues
of our golem
of joy -

Undone.

we'd have more Love
but for the
lack,

having bruised
the perfect,
Perfect

One  

but nothing kills like giving All
and regretting
None.