How blissful the thundering tempest
When in morn's decay at last it be...

You come to me in the early morning darkness,
A shadowed curve of movement, intent, sensation...

I taste the hunger
in her eyes...

13 June 2018
6:47pm...

Nothing but a wraith,
Amidst the joys of others...

Drip for me...
Be the morning dew...

My eye traces the shadows
Of her neck jaw lip...

In the chilling twilight
Her breath, in dewy wisps...

Yes....
I remember Ares' cry...

As the seas and rivers and lakes churned to dust
Beneath the dancing grin of flame...

Though clouds dirge black
and talons rake the green to frosty white...

No skin of silk,
No atar of rose...