I knew not passion. Craved no worldly mirth.
My steps in cadence with the sounds of the earth,
Intemperate soul that clung to heavens through
Unyielding bites and clawed its way to regions new.
Yes. Fates foretold in murmurs of a rune
That mine will be the silk-tied spectre of a moon
Forever lonesome and without brace,
Its brightness dimmed by cloudless skies apace.
Yet I will fall asleep and dream once more
The softness of your touch, submitting to no law
As blue-bells made an icon of your trace,
Imprinting on my wrists the scent of your embrace.
Your voice was neither that of nightingale, nor lark.
Another journey’s end it whispers… what I lack
It gives aplenty in melodious truth
And this: a promise kept my nights will soothe.