As the moon is devoured and
skeletal dreams arc from dark crenellations.
We find the White Knight seeking surcease
from his demonic lovers fatal charms.
The White Knight is beyond weary, mortally
wounded the quick of him ebbs as he dreads
another witching-hour. For she comes to him
in sleep, stalking with such stealth, curling
a tongue of flame about his innocence.
She demands that he rise to battle sweet evil.
Her lips are an engulfing cauldron that immediately
bring sweat to a tortured brow and though he thrust
mightily it is to no avail. She anticipates each lunge with
cunning riposte to leave his loins aching, vision
The moans of the White Knight escalate to
fervor pitch but no matter how hard he presses his adore,
he finds naught but frustration. There seems no
hope of relief to torrent building.
In retaliation he resorts to guile
and fastens upon her own nub of
tribulations praying that torment given
might at last grant him mercy in his need.
But the duel is endless and every night the same.
The White Knight is beyond weary
yet in his eyes feral ferocity still shines.
He is the White Night and in every night
lies the pure heart that brings