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like halos adorning the crumbles of history, fog

traces

her fingers over forgotten names, swirling

translucent

cursive along lettered echoes

‘soon, soon, soon,’

withered red, frail skeletal darlings, decaying

romantic lexis on ruins

his preserved body lazes on a wooden frame,

bathing

in my blood

forever the white saviour

we shall know nothing more than what the past

dictates us to believe-

does desire of the truth plague you incessantly?

chains condensed, snugly fit into pages in your

garter,

he rustles against your fingertips

frilled cuffs amidst the shifting shroud of death,

breath fragrant with wine,

laconic noon and stern sun-downs brought

us here

the cyclical link whose hair i adorn with strings of opalescence

a lost soul feeds on the solitary gasping

Marlborough,

the one weighed by the weeping Caucasian

warmed by a honeyed flame

by Nia