I am but a dim flare of light, panic lantern.
Much like a portrait in a darkened room,
you search my shadows in the vain hope that
I might betray myself.
Cloak me the hierophant, the lightning struck tower.
Fool: name me the Lady Ineffable.
Steeped in mystomania, I wait sharply.
Whisper once more, with feeling: I shall not tempt.
Spring forth the midnight canopy,
Draw bed curtains of bullrushes,
Let me sleep the sleep of the dead.
A whole forest of golden branches strains
to hear my ragged breaths, sweetheart.