25 November 2012
Hair, bleached, pale Summer, Eyes, a Winter blue, Autumn in your waking scent, And Springtime aura, too.
Skin of pale ashes, Lips of embers, red, Butterflies of midnight black, Surround your daylight tread.
Persephone, descending, Beyond the crack of dawn, Her tongue, touched to forbidden fruit, Her Summer soul, forlorn.
Her Winter came soon after, When tears of rage did fly, Into the ground, they melted, raw, As hope came round to die.
Persephone • Opuss № I