ivory skin, as this paper
ebony hair, as this ink
shining, imbued with moonlight
glistening, dipped in the morn's dew
he is my friend, with
lips of roses
a nose, a thorn
and flowers, rathe in winter
she is your lover with
fangs of eggshells
eyes of marbles
blood of honey
and flesh of black lace
one mark, a fall, a
wellspring in the night
we sing the evensong
then where do we go?
I don't know what I'm feeling. This feels totally right, yet totally wrong
