Crows spill from a swollen tree,

Inking the solemn sky with black.

A vision softly creeping, misleading,

Envious of the soft light upon his lashes.

Mistook, a birth of blues and whites,

Assaulting laughter with one paused tear,

Crossed with blanks, unknown, unwanted,

Vanished in glee of a dusky fog.

She drifts a desire, grave, impartial.

Lineage dusking with whispers unheard.

Eyes phlegmatic, twisting, ending.

As is life with one expeditious slash.

Born with red adornments of transgression.

Awaiting time, but with time, comes none.

A body dormant with a dream, of no one.

 
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