Stepping into pools of light,
between the ivy traps,
in deep and eerie tenderness,
the syllables that lapse.

Foreign taste presents to tongue,
reimbursing fear.
The is a body, here, of love,
and danger is not near.

Poignant nights that echo on,
inside the warmth of oil,
concatonate as months turn over,
fertilizing soil.

As tentative as baffled fox,
with ears on pointe, they stand,
between the winding, aging oak,
and that forbidden land.

Lending heat of fire in,
volcanic poison lingers,
and leaves its shadow, soaked and stained,
on muddy walls and fingers.

In endless midnight, tribal drum
resounds across the bay,
and moon-lit boats of forest wood,
how gently they all sway.

Deafened by the cricket's score,
the senses shift and swell,
and when the night is yesterday's,
the trees will never tell.

My dear, you'll only lose your way,
to touch upon this dank.
Suggest you turn your boat around
and moor a further bank.

In endless midnight, float, you will,
until you see the dawn,
and there, upon its safety net,
you'll lay your head and mourn.

Be still, as you embark this path,
or yours will be the lake.
In forest, deep, and silence, gone,
you will, your last breath, take.