Paper, an unfathomable
white abyss,
blinding like an
alabaster
sun.
She swallows
laughter and tears
as the seared night would devour
a single drop
of water.

Your waist as
slim as a
porcelain
dolls,
Fills his
naked
arms.
Your blood like
frozen twilight
brume.
Rivers captured in
mid-sentence.
Words caught in
mid-flow.

You, Lord of
Silent Households,
chassé on
crystal staircases
in cotton-cloud
slippers.
A deity among
men.
A polished dagger
tenderly caressing
the
heart.

Your blood stains
infinitude,
rivulets weeping
in perfect
blue
lines.

Blissfully blind,
every breath
leaving gilded frost
like Autumn’s
last leaves
weaving
in
glass
air.
Unaware,
while you
chisel your master’s
fine-faced
immortality,
the time
draws near
for your own
dark
dreaded
departure.