Apparition Poem # 1496

Night an eight-inch blade,
more armor to be made,
silver as full moon's ache,
nerves mustn't hurt, shake,
extra time a lover's shade-
if I'm re-sprung to get laid,
after all debts have been repaid,
I can keep my parts awake,
master Hell for Heaven's sake-
she billows/blares blonde-fade,
I circle her eternally, wherefore
walls of her beauty shimmer, it's
a fracas of Biblical proportions,
nightstands nudging pills up ours-