She says she waits
On the other, better side

Her eyes tell a different story

Her lips whisper grievance
One undone by a word
The other by the slide of a hand
Until the darkness is shattered
By the faintest touch

Let not my bleeding hands mar this perfect form
Let my fingers find the place
The curve of a wrist
That sets the flesh atremble

Let not the terrible charisma
Of her voice
Turn my eyes

Let not the black gaze of clarity
Bid me miss

The echo of her still singing limbs

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Khepary, in the year 130 MA.