Wicked Damsel

When the weary sun closeth its eyes, the shiny moon riseth from the breast of our beloved mother earth. It is very splendid, but not as much as thee. My poor soul followeth thee whither thou goest. O my pretty damsel! Daughter of the mysterious night! Every time I see thee falling asleep I get trapped in a loop of intense sweetness.

Thy hair is the smoothest silk fabric in the whole world, thine eyes enlighten my melancholic sky and thy lips remind me of the forbidden fruit of holy Eden. I guess I will be eternally cursed if I, at least, dare to touch them with mine.

Why art thou so indifferent? Why dost thou avoid my presence? I do not want to be here praising thy magnificent existence while thou restest, as a mere excuse to ignore my latent pain. It maketh me feel like I am not good enough to love thee properly. If I am not thine one and only, so who is?

Stephen Tristan (Stepheson Emmanuel)