Dreams are derived,
subjective truth (objective lies);
uptied by a harlot,
folded with cunning, sealed with a crime.
Fluid and lucid, my concubine
lies [next to me, and I within her].

She speaks with the tranquil tongue of ends,
the brisk winds of Glacian,
and the maiden portends to conception --
to build that which bends from innate inflection
speaking intent on drinking wine
lapped from a gossamer glass
transient in our understanding of time.

Next to me, simple shadow,
lay over my brow.
Open your eyes
of night chilled by clear skies,
suspend my sight
and move my understanding.

Move my senses
to sleep within sin
and your arms (mine) --
embrace myself, beget my life.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Chronos, in the year 405 AF.