~Song of the Traveler~

I come to you on the cool misty night
carrying stark dreams, carrion
Unto Elysium with thought and pain
and strain and contempt and what fain
Sickly hours run the slow cold
toward my blood grown quick
Savor the stride
that conducted these fares unto thine

They are bottles of pungent wine
Dress to wear on the tongue
that will befoul me
in hours of years to come
I am like the fire
and the black smoldering sheet dresses me
to look well on thee with no harm to come
Love, on my love's broken tongue

Very Nice.