From the depths of darkness springs a fountain of perfect night
bereft of stars and moon and dust,
where empty dreams pour forth in wayward moments
as shadows and onyx dusks.
This was whence she came from.
This was the once home of Death.
She wore her hair long about slim shoulders,
like raven epaulettes burnished to a glasslike night.
Porcelain skin adorned by the ultramarine
jewels that were her eyes,
she brought with her only the abyss,
her wants and her fears,
as she hauled herself from the Beneath
and tiptoed away into a world of frosting breaths.
She’d never seen anything sparkle.
How Death wept at the beauty of it all.
to be continued. . .
Thank you for reading