For The Princess of the Nighttime

Exceptional.

Your walk through my unconscious mind in a gown of sparkling mirrors you glide, skating through dewy pedals laden with the pearls of the mother, the moon.

Soft parting of furling fabric, fluid in it's exquisite fantasy.

Eyes of the stars, struck centrally by the singularity of your verdigris gaze, you turn, you pause at the beginning of a laugh and radiate the intensity of a million galactic eddies, spiraling

In the inky blackness of your lips, parted in breathless fervor.

Voracity.

Incarnate you pace seductively, willing for whichever price just be paid.
Not women, not girl; neither angel nor devil, but transcendent of all who have and will come before.  

The love of our language, of which only two speak.
Never more will we hold our peace.

For that is the path of all you could not be:
Weak
Passive
Lacking of the very passion that has been instilled in your soul, imprinted upon your heart by the innermost of my being.