For Dame Death, on Her Birthday.

(June 17, 2011)

Not the first, and not the last-
O, gilded glimmering burst of dying ember
frightfully flitting, to light my path-
thus I'll burn once more just to remember.
A truer friend, you might've been,
but love me more? A one could never.
To see the Life within my dying face,
and to wed the two of me together.
The beauty of it was the deadliest.
The dual-sided dopaminergic Deliverance
always fueled the never-would-be-sated
fiery seat of my ambivalence.
Most dolorous of doting fervour
trembling to trespass the Gates of night
before we'd find our dew-kissed cheeks
tough and taut before dawn's wretched light.

But now that my psychadelic Swirling Falls have passed,
and the summers have singed the weeds that grew,
I've resolved to tenderness over what transpired,
and denounced the pains I thought I knew.

Now that our grimoire is shut and sealed,
tossed into the icy Styx our rueful tome,
I wish I could have conceived our sentience;
I wish we'll all still find our home;

I wish that I may still find pardon,
though I'll hold out a little longer;
that you were more than a Cross'd Star to light my way;
and that I could have been a little stronger.