There are times, tasting woman on my lips
Wine-kissed red, just the faintest hint of winter
Where I ache for your soft impression
For your intimate delights, your intricate whims
That murmur and moan from the shadow’s womb

You made me kiss your flame to know the taste
Of passion, screams that dragged the night along
I was the knife in your satin purse, gilded
The last time I saw you you were a ghost
With dark eyes that were impenetrable

O could I but whisper my secrets to your
Naked frame, breathing light, a beauty that
Absolves every lovèd, absorbs every lover

Instead here I seek rest in a coven of crowes
Whilst your nightingale, so ebullient, so distant,
Alight above my dark maze of tangled branches,
Drifts on ever upwards towards the softening sky
Opened up in reverent memory, pierced through with you