The Nyxian Harem

The dichotomy of her intrigues me
and nothing like the fear I understand.
Solitary but stoic, a burnt image on a
retina and yet,

all she sees is the night,
trapped in the Nyxian harem
and temptation to the Muses
of Melancholia - fleshed and
pale, geisha women with

black, black wings.
Yet she shines and shines still
through the hoary veils
and whore scent; that Flora
taint through everything, touching

everything. And my god, my god she sees
the parade of damned devils who
wish to place their life in their
due, their due and supposed right.

though many people may disbelieve -
the dark mind is not exotic but
just grey and rain.

A pitter-patter of little matter on
the rusty mechanical heart.
In that vale of drudge and grudges
ill-spent and bare -

live and electric spitting
light dragons with myopic ambition -
fiery light, phoenix girl.

And damp the treachery of
the misty, saturnine mind.