Literature
i.
Fae-child
with her wrists full of grave dirt,
eyes full of ghostlight
they sing -
when you call her name;
Princess of the fog rings
she dances on splinters and
bleeds petals from her heels
but, remember
be careful of the moonless roses,
the rain stones carved into ovals,
the old belltower when it closes,
they say;
-remember-
Her kisses hide teeth
and her tongue drinks deep
and her name rings old
but death
she comes for all.