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In streaks of ghastly lightening gothic spires glow:<br />
a black-ice fortification— a crow-perched chateau.<br />
‘Neath shaded cherub arch Night’s heir reclines<br />
framed in creeping jade tendrils and incarnadine-fruit vines.<br />
In velvet robes of ebony-sleek, he promenades with integrity.<br />
posed with pomp and reverie— a chessman majesty.<br />
Bronze and restless, the clock rapidly ticks<br />
as slender fingers of Horizon prick the web of onyx.<br />
Dawn’s maid and Night’s Prince—a final embrace enfold<br />
as porcelain fireflies—sunrise— gnaw on tales foretold.<br />
Their crimson ramparts bleed rosary-pea reflections<br />
crumbling Crescent’s kingdom of tides and bastions.<br />
Their lips touch momentarily, sweetly<br />
as transparency evaporates her beloved completely.<br />
Warmth fades… replaced by a dew-gilded morning glory<br />
and the remembrance—eternal— of an incomplete story.<br />
—Ashleigh Bilodeau<br />
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