the call of the comatose vole

fear not in the gray morning, rising with bile, my gorge becomes me,
my liege is a sleeping god.

The trickle window panes, tall evergreen sway,
swish noises, embankments holding off giant oceans,
stealing away the veil.

"bride of silence and slow time"
the moments leading towards death,
seeping blue corneal mosaics,
withered potion making skills,
revamp the bat's bite.

endampened enchantment.