Paper lips and parchment flowers
Crumple though we count the hours
Penumbral wishes made of stars
Wanting what was never ours
Hand in hand, turn now within
To a place you've rarely been
Hoisted high, the moon so pale
The lover's wine, the drunkard's ale

Spirits as saviours, demons in hell
A song inside you cannot quell
Bare feet, blood-strewn, in passion's path
Where nothing save will was meant to last
Waning, waxing, wading deep
Let darkness now my secrets keep
From vodun hearts on pins and needles
Epiphanies struck and turned to kindle

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Chronos, in the year 671 AF.