Soul dark her eyes bleed obsidian, like a fever of liquid-shadows,
seeking her lover damned
And a myriad of talons will seed the sky a primeval calling
of necromancy and lust untamed
Upon her breath, I whispered softly in winged-caress:
"cast thy nightscapes unto the ache of gossamer streams"
So she closed her eyes and her demon lover hungered long..
Forever the Crow shimmering in her darkest dreams
Arthur Crow © 2012