my obsidian
satyrs -
how many fur-baby
blessings
does every black
river whisper?
the russet
darkness inside
every etherized
flower is
a sea of crimson
cat-like music
beleth, beleth, beleth
your pale
horse illumines
a forest
of gorgon wounds
and all rites of spring
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem