Snow

Thoust thy sweet lips have caressed and slaughtered thy soul with deadly poise

and few words that bond me with guile creep into my soul, ravaged and unimportant, they still tread a lover's heart.

I have yet to encounter the woven grains of immortal love and have we not paid the reaper's price

Were not your fingers & arms consumed and set upon by the aprons of fire and were we not at one with the air between us.

Blood upon blood, fire and wind licking our bodies as if we were God's.

My sword is all I have.