Things twine and slither in the mist
Chygon can’t see her eyes
Her voice a whisp of whisper
“So sad that the heart must languish
that the wane echo of a ‘might have been’
should thread itself
like a dark chord
through the dark chambers
and infinite vessels of a heart forlorn
How unbearably cold and bitter
the draft. . .
once so cheerfully toasted
now dregs. . .
When one considers how dangerous and insane love can be. . .
perchance it is better that the blinding light of love
drains all thought from the mind. . .
better that love makes us blind
better. . .”