Cloak of Glory

There is no many-hearted
cloak of glory,
no prim and proper vestment
for the brave,
only the scream rip strain
of childbirth,
the endless eyeblinks of
grooming thoughts
and fending thorns of kisses
nestled deep in blades,
standing back to back because
the talons have slain the guard
and all remaining is her
hand heart caress
upon your sigh.

This is life.
This is love.
Mourndance with me,
my Passion,
as we stand this dying
watch to Dawn.