Every wing becomes a scar betrothed,
Everything congeals with blood so weak,
An echo calls the moon by fools aloof,
Their sounds so silent only mad can tell,
And with every cold touch is ill begot,
And all but none can none say they heard
A creep lurks in the dark in trees behind,
There it breathes the fear you ought deny,
Soon it bleeds your angst with thoughts proclaim:
Never mind the love you seek in heart’s recess,
Never mind the mean you hold in great excess,
I will not pass into shadow as I am such as is,
Nor back down ere your shadow crawls to this;
The tale of great delight in those parts there,
Forget all who knew you to be so fair,
This night is deigned in new pleasures gain,
And what resistance you hold is ill but vain,
So coming with me, no pun intended, is right,
And slide all but skin ere sleeping muse is tight.
For hypocrisy is as virtue a vice as sung by fame,
It be never; perversion speaks not my name,
And if I am got, so shall I fold my heart in two,
But if I am fought, then may my heart rise at once.

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