Upon her lips…I’m a bird that longs to sing its soul. I spend many a daunting dawns plotting an impossible siege. Still the faltering light of twilights are not walls the wings of the heart will heed.

Subversive nights. I would have been ok laying down my heart beyond the quiet shadows. Those twisted hours. Except. Except. The shape of her, outlines of a mission unfulfilled, her aura, a flicker of memories, of duties incomplete.