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￭ In our image and our likeness
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2018-09-01 | |
Perched at the foot of the bed, tired Light and morose Shadow stood silent.
Light still wore her patched negligee, carrying to and fro the still effluvia,
of many a nightâ€™s conundrums and mumbled â€˜what ifsâ€™,
spoken softly against the chimes of a demented clock,
racing like a Mad Hatter to catch front-row seats to the Rapture.
Pale-golden Shadow rose like an intoxicated Phoebus â€“
spear high, and ready to bargain with the Snakeâ€¦
slithering in the mud, decrepit, telling time and time again its penny-worth tale:
â€˜An apple a day, keeps Dog away.â€™
Quiet reverie, quiet hands, a long-forgotten dream of lust,
of blood-stained sheets, and the ringed smoke of one last cigarette.
Of heart throbbing next to one another, exchanging vows, and promises, and a low-note humming of â€˜Strangers in the Night.â€™
Shadow softly speaks â€“ â€˜Is this it? The End of the Line? The final stroke of the brush?â€™
â€˜Leave,â€™ Light had whispered in a tongue unheard.
â€˜Forget the bridal bed, the binding of hands, of moans as soft as the brushing of a seraphâ€™s wing.â€™
â€˜Though I revel in the dark, and dream of things absconded,
Your seed is hollow. Your soul impotentâ€™
â€˜I speak of shadow, yet I await the Dawn â€“ with rosy fingers and crimson tongue. My body shudders and rustles, like leaves blown away by autumnâ€™s wind.â€™
Shadowâ€™s fled, the dawn approaches. Light is still, nothing more to fill.
Depart, depart, departâ€¦.
impotent, worthless, oblivious, muteâ€¦.my lover comes racing. Sketched Stallion. I hungerâ€¦.
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