Dear lady,

There was a day when I wished,
I could be the soul of the soul of your soul –
But my vitality is being gone,
standing upon the cliff next to your illusions
of the infernal tide below.

It has been degraded, serrated into gilt flecks of porcelain,
which would dive and dust off the steep crag
had you not held them in your hands – gentle hands.
And for the honeyed words that lasted the cutting cracks,
I bless “Thank thee”.

No words to grant the
engagement from estrangement,
that deserve no bodies,
not yours,
no more.

But hearing such
lasts meager endearment,
as I behold the pearl-essence
upon your cheek.
The very same that lacquered the hills to the east,
and plains of the west,
and the sky of which granted tears to the beast it had admitted, one which you were so fond
of,
one which you studied with such arduousness, as I had never seen,
and only could imagine.

Sweet nymph, nomad of Eden,
it would please me not to see you pain,
through each chink in your chains that bind you to the burden,
you hath taken upon yourself.

So please fair maiden,
allow me to gorge
upon thy ink-black sludge,
thy insidious poison,
which passes along thine blood,
and which many a night you have prayed to escape.

Grant allowance to one second of contentment!
Grant blessed, calm night!
For my hands may not be gentle,
but will ward against the serpents nevertheless,
and knowing your sleeping sound,
my vitality will remain
Unbroken.