Bewitched, I tumble forward by bow
Pale beamed fingers combing night's sinful brow
Velvet his husk, here in the dusk
Where plunged I deeply as darkness allowed


Could I caress the harsh planes, there
My lips crescent moons against the ink of dark hair
In the hollow of throat, where mystery gloats
And a maiden's vessel utters softly cried prayers


Secrets kept tucked in night's pocket
There my tears as diamonds found their sockets
Alone in the tide, I slither and glide
'Neath the black moon, with madness my prophet

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Sarapin, in the year 673 AF.