On the brow of the hill, I kiss you in a large cloud of mist. The soul freezes. A life void of scoring. The corpse yawns within the body. My memories caress your blind eyes.
Night wearing a helmet of dreams squeezes the moist head and the sleeper's olive lids.
Dimness spills its oil, an ebony smear over the hid and the wound. I rose early in order to watch the window whiten. The day rises, sprayed with ghosts. Dawn trenches overflow with phalanxes and skulls. Death watches out for our beginnings.