Oh, mine beloved heavens, strike me down with thy chariest mercy and hath't me in all mine glory. Mine love hath ordained throughout the ages. Mine love hath did travel through the lands. Mine love hath did walk with mine remains in its hands. Death? The lady is fleeting with that lady airy movements and long forgotten sins. Death couldst nev'r did hurt me the way thee hath't, heaven. I pray mine remains findeth yours, and with our did card ashes thither wilt rise a storm. Thither wilt beest destruction. Thither wilt beest chaos. Thither wilt beest our remains varnished by ash and tar. The nights wilt groweth dainty to our love, heaven. Did let thither beest light, did let thither beest noises which replace the exsufflicate space. Did let thither beest thee, mine beloved. Within the clouds of tomorrow, thee wilt encave thy secrets and, I, mine sorrows. A thousand stories, a million moo, enshielf behind the crestfallen nights of yesterday. Thee rise.
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VEIL'D MELANCHOLY.
PoetryNeither salt nor sugar settles on your tongue. Only this blood of mine does. Neither I nor she fills up your heart. Only these tears of mine do. [POETRY/PROSE]
