Betwixt the crest
Of midnight and
Prime, the sopped
Tears of St. Lawrence
Fire like Cupid's arrows
Breaking deftly upon
The declivity of
Flamberge's wave
Sparking first things
First, purviewing a
A few things besides
Loves agony as Eos
Razes the unconcerned
Thurible of dawn like
A ghoulish sacring bell.


Eleete J Muir