A darkened sky, the day that laughter died, I fell swiftly into night haunted by a sinking portent and in a quest for a city sunk below. Tears dropped like shards of glass in streams, like holy sinners, swept within me to fall in with the forsaken. Midst dark wet mists with awful fearing shadows I made bold a threshold. As the bright moon with silvered fingers played on my dreams that were too cursed for the day, I suddenly witnessed the snow flake fall that started it all. The visions coined like a furious searing heat which had knelt to kiss. A snow white line of divine freaks, in riot or in lust, they fell...
While I watched without revolt the play few beasts permit as if a circus lurched in, an act of promised delight, a tangled web of thirsty spun. Half naked in seemingly burial gowns they formed a formless white void stirring as in an invisible reproduction, they multiplied clinging together tenaciously and started swelling into a giant cluster; a fleshy shape with dark spread raven wings gyrating provocatively in a frenzied passion in an act of love swollen with life.
In the flighty chaotic darkness, curled within the silver womb, wrapped in the very wings, I saw a wounded creature dressed in grief. It arose with a deep cry which threatened to tear the night and came towards me. She suddenly held my shrouded hand, lifted and winged me deeper into the night.
The flight into oblivion reached the rocky clearing by a river bed. Her face shone like the now lustrous moon. She was beautiful. Her pitch black wings placed us lightly on the smoothest flat rock and collapsed. Hurt, debile and lame with dark blood spurting she looked at me with pleading blue eyes. The raven was sure to die with the sanctity of sin to rival hell. And with the most horrible, vile noise for something so lovely it implored and prayed for blood for seven nights of survival.
Reluctant though I was, a vale of dreams that it would seem I lowered myself on her lips. I felt no pain as the raven ate my tongue and the warmth returned in her body with a quiver
I now pace alone in a void for the dead overwhelmed by woe. And here, I've aged so lovesome of dread that I blaspheme is heaven
While I watched without revolt the play few beasts permit as if a circus lurched in, an act of promised delight, a tangled web of thirsty spun. Half naked in seemingly burial gowns they formed a formless white void stirring as in an invisible reproduction, they multiplied clinging together tenaciously and started swelling into a giant cluster; a fleshy shape with dark spread raven wings gyrating provocatively in a frenzied passion in an act of love swollen with life.
In the flighty chaotic darkness, curled within the silver womb, wrapped in the very wings, I saw a wounded creature dressed in grief. It arose with a deep cry which threatened to tear the night and came towards me. She suddenly held my shrouded hand, lifted and winged me deeper into the night.
The flight into oblivion reached the rocky clearing by a river bed. Her face shone like the now lustrous moon. She was beautiful. Her pitch black wings placed us lightly on the smoothest flat rock and collapsed. Hurt, debile and lame with dark blood spurting she looked at me with pleading blue eyes. The raven was sure to die with the sanctity of sin to rival hell. And with the most horrible, vile noise for something so lovely it implored and prayed for blood for seven nights of survival.
Reluctant though I was, a vale of dreams that it would seem I lowered myself on her lips. I felt no pain as the raven ate my tongue and the warmth returned in her body with a quiver
I now pace alone in a void for the dead overwhelmed by woe. And here, I've aged so lovesome of dread that I blaspheme is heaven
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