Poem: Over The Threshold

[bliumchik]

She lives! Her golden eyes once more
Slip-slide my way, the rose comes to
Her perfect cheek. Her fingers, pale,
Caress my collar gently – I
Am once again absorbed, and live
For her.

She lives, indeed, for me
The grave-dirt fresh, and clinging to
Her dress (trimmed midnight blue). Her wound
An inch above her perfect breast
Gives lie the heart that beats within
It beats! In spite, her blood runs cold
And yet she loves.

My love hath stilled
Time’s wanton cycle, and her tongue,
Encased in crystal. I embrace
Her gently, and she smiles, holds forth
Her blue-white hand: I follow her
The threshold, shadowbound, awaits
Our ice-wrought honeymoon.