Dawn, The Riddle.

dream sequence featuring my muse, a series of gestures and movements through colourscapes

She whispered to me the riddle of the dawn,

Twin eels born as one in the glorious sun,

Ink, she said, dwelt in their mouth,

Creating manuscripts silver like time,

As tassels dripping out of the Virgin's kiss,

Something like this, she spoke of low to me,

In our lyric tryst, devotion to flame,

To a sea as green as absinthe in swirls,

Her curls like hidden harpsichord worlds,

Islands forgotten reborn in the sound,

With a profound sense of longing, 

To belong to anything, everything,

Mountains are made,

And Pan mounts the peak,

Tainting her prolific sleep,

Biting at my Tarquin-esque lips,

A kiss,

For mischief and magick run deep in these veins,

As she proclaims, refrains, defames my name,

With the surrogate riddle of dawn.