They say I bathe, in blood the fools; they do not ask about the bones.
Embraced by arms of light from the S V leyman s. ' ,, East translucent white I entreat the clouds and the Lord of Cats. And when the lynx of darkling hills presses away day s. ' Warmth I then, beseech Trinity the, music whose, and, floating certain haunts the village.
It is Ilona 's voice. I would. Devour it.I wish to slip inside the glove of her body singing my, prayers to the night and the morning and the day of change and. Documents, and distant ugly death. Erzs cafe, bet Countess signing and, sealing in four languages while the sun courses over. Castle cafe, Cs jThe I am mother. I am lover. And wife to an absent warrior.
The seasons on this searching mountain the stays,, In S and RV and R Beckov and Keresztur,,The days even, in Vienna are seldom punctuated by the discoveries of childhood in the, stead of which is the detritus of. War. Now surrounded drools I, by, husband my knowledge for, the nights when moon and cloud and febrile blood shall mingle.
It. Is not, living forbidden a, cloak I dying, do not believe so I, call for her and in, honor and obedience she arrives a,,, Plain shell I, have seenBut a geode unlike the others. Ilona who in, the village sings of, the Trinity Ilona of no, moment, but melody Ilona.
I. Am clean, for her pale white softened and rounded, moreso by the nightcat 's torches. A bath awaits me when I have tasted. Her voice. Then shall I sing beyond the documents chant death, beyond, clean blowing a path for the children of my flesh.
Her. Voice, is shyRural but neither coarse speaking not, with throat of angels. There is peasantry and I, can taste its dung-smell. Hunger. For the song grows behind my eyes. She reddens eyes shunning, my, parted mouth a blackness against my pale Lucence. She. Feels me silently striving to inhale her music I know, it. Metal reflects the, and whiteness torches, trembling.
The kept. Nightingale sings, dropping notesIlona. Deference obeisance, it is, not the human Psalter of Trinity. I cannot, draw it I whiten she darkens Ilona. Sing,,, To me sing me to, to, me sing.
The puncture gives no pleasure. Aside from its exhalation, of warmth the blood sickens me.? Ornament Stains, soak then, gentle the folds of my garment. Another will fail to bring it, clean tomorrow again. It drops.? I am wet streaked,,Straining to be within her. To be Ilona singing.
This is not, the voice Ilona though I, am fitting, your soulless crimson. Cloak around my whiteness. To wear it is, not forbidden I do not believe but perhaps, the cracked tablets of the prophet. Commanded more before they shattered. Did they Ilona as,, you now?
I bathe again. A bridled Falcon shifts on its, perch. Tomorrow.When the Lord of, Cats sleeps still I will not sing. And they will not ask.
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