Three is the number of Balance,
but when I look into your gaze I am unsteadied
by the disparate colour of your eyes.
And when I reach for the totem
implanted deep in the earth of our home,
everything turns to honey and oozes
with heat and flux, the way your wicked wings
shudder, sursurrations of something icy
passing through my mind like so many cool-cornered boxes.

Wavering, I collapse into your boundless apperception and ken.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Sarapin, in the year 603 AF.