There is a quietude I crawl inside with my whole body. It is the taste of ivory snow falling from a black navy sky. It is the scent of perfumed blood on a sacrificial night. In the mirrored mist, the silent sensation of your stoic face, featureless and dim. There are cruel eyes which search me from behind your eyes. In this place I am motionless as you part my lips. Clutch your cold hand upon my heart, fingers groping the soft firm curve of my breast. There are shadows which clasp like scissors, hinging my pulse to the throb in your veins. Your vulgar whispers, gunmetal chains which encircle me. I catch a glimpse of you turning, turning. When it all becomes blindness. When you call for me and I acquiesce. Naked. Curl of a spine at the foot of your bed. I open a palm to receive you. You shed your cloak and I drink from you. Breathe for you. Die for you. I feel your feathered darkness flutter against the cage in my chest.

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