The smoke is rising from your throat,
And out your dry, pink pretty lips,
And where it fades into the air I dote,
I begin; the sky betwixt us, fingertips.

You did not see me look to your Eyes,
For mine were looking at God’s greatest Own,
And when those daggers plunder, mesmerize,
I saw that I must die, upon the Love you’d already sown.

What am I, that could ever hope to be?
Yours; a laugh between the Sighs.
Who am I, that I hope to see?
Ink; a nebula of want between your thighs.

And now as you must part me like that breath,
I shatter, windless, barren, all alone.
I am Ginnungagap, a Void, stretched to the Death,
Seeing all, but never being, to see you is my Sin to atone,

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