The woman clothed in alabaster skin comes in the dark.
Her black fingers quiver as she shiver-shakes from the bathroom.
My queen wears a crown of wounds under her white hair.
She notices me.
If you turn the light off, she will come shortly after midnight. With the window flung open, so that she is bathed in moonlight.
I pray she comes close and lays her dark hands on me.
I want to feel the dead mouth, to receive the kiss of the grave.
I wish to be her host.
– Hidden under the fan in the room