Maiden fair livens at the blue-white gleam of moonlight
And stirs
Under the shadows of night.
With downy hairs perched upon the nape like writhing snakes,
Burning black as soot,
Her lips pucker and spit foul-speckled air,
And her head will spin and spin and spin
Until night turns to dawn
When the infernal sun will eat away at the soiled bits
Of the wild, dour mess.