Your benthic sorrows, engraved
into the depths of this archaic
heart, now swaying, now plunging;
it beats still, pumping blood
into your face. Stalactites
drip from the crimson tooth,
sharp and gold in the dusty
corner of your skull.
And now the bones come, falling
from our endless dreamscape,
where the onyx bowl at the
rainbow’s end spews wraiths,
and screams; forever lost,
in the tremors at the ultima
of infinity.
In the distance, over that bloodied
hill, we shall find Camelot,
where we will live on in our
starlit afterlife. But now our feet tire,
but now our hands clench; as the moon
wraps its tattered blanket around us.
Watch this arrow fly, invisible,
until it pierces your throat,
and then the world drowns,
and then the bell falls from my hand,
as the second arrow is let loose.
I take your hand. Do you see Camelot?
We can reach it still, together. But no.
We are finished now,
and we walk toward the moon on the horizon.
