The Obsidian Plague of Midnights

In Spring there’s friendship that’s lasted through the Winter, all those cold nights of salted drops and quilts of snow. The obsidian plague of midnights, melancholic drapes, but all the while the candlelight of friendship did glow. you’d think she’s the sun - i wax and wane in restraints having lost my way The flickering of her tongue as she wet our weep with wine. O how the shadows flickered on the walls as if in mirth. The slow burn lasted as the wind howled, the chimney choked. Her wrinkled, waxy skin, a kin to suffering and pain. each deep etched line spoke a sticky web of knowing lips barely moving That Spring, she showed up with an armful of daffodils, and silliness, tears stinging her neck, this honeybee. She understood madness, and the brumal sun. Outliers could not drink our elixir nor interlope upon our phoenix rising. cascade of the moon no longer afraid of dark - white lacy curtains