thou art a maiden of the somber bloodlight;
no other night's form,nor the morn
bear thy beautious self.
nor even the summer's being
with heated vigour,
flame thee from its frigid heat
the thunderous flashes,
before the rain subdues, maybe
glimpses thy thin silhouette
yet not utterly made then.
an' again by the solitary dawn
before thy is exhausted
under the fleshes of the morn
thou art what i percieve,
beyond the thick thick blanket
of the rainy haze.
every night's night
when the sundial stops to graze.
all i feel are thy lips' fringe with moistened glare.
o visionary mine,
captured you are in thine rosy flesh,
and even if thou beyond the shadows exist-
won't thee leave the cloud's chamber
for once, o thy lover in the mist.