Wicked Honey

Honey-black, pitch-yellow dark,
The night is just a shrouded spark
Ambergreen, like violet.
Oh... not yet, not yet.

What’s this? Around the corner peeks
An ashen glow with amber cheeks.
A dream, you fear?

My dear, my dear.
They all descend like streams of mire:
Thirst and burst and wild desire,
Golden ashes swim in fire,
Glow in wells that sing with lyre.

“No!” you scream.
“My Ashen Angel
steals my dream!”

You toss and thrash and hit
And, in dauntless, sudden fit:
“Enough!” you say, my sweetened heart.
“Begone, beloved and broken shard
Of dreams and guile and feigned attire!”

Now the ashen glow with amber cheeks
From far away through hazes peeks.

You sink back in sleepy glee:
“Oh... what shadows me?”

“Be calm, my dear,
The night,” I say,
“Is almost here.”