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

Some tracings sing,
Hot breath lips tongue...

Someone
Quicken me for my...

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

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

You can see it in her eyes:
She remembers your kisses...

These mists vivisect reality,
constrain its intention...

There is no many-hearted
cloak of glory...

A sliver then,
a single silver crescent...

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

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

Whether diagnosed dim by glance into eye,
Revealed by an ignorant anachronistic crack...