Veins of azure snake between the clouds,
flesh of sky laid bare, her breath hushed breeze.
As the shaking hands of lovers tremble,
from her depths doth truest passion seethe.
Across her lithe form do worlds travel,
shadows weaving across her chest.
Beneath, seas of matching hues doth rage.
Thundering waves scarce leave time for rest.
Perhaps, in doubt, I am truly certain
of the love that fuels mine soul.
It is that which never dies—
a newborn story of old.

In ancient anarchy yet untold,
treasures reek of jewels and gold.
They set men ablaze with greed—
living nightmares from Hades freed.
And yet hope laces poisoned world,
doves among flags of war unfurled.
Hands clasped above the shadow’s hold,
voices speaking words too bold.
It is this that grips you, makes you host—
And never ends, but remains a ghost.