Arrel King
2020
Twice, I closed the dream of death and it’s enamored queen.
She guided me into the night, the darkness and the cold rescind of light. I questioned her and all she say. I asked her thoughts beckoning her to say: “oh lovely one with breath and dream, you’re not much more than hope and steam. You fought and fled and cried with dread, you lay wounded upon your dying bed. So here I am to grip your hand, to lead you now, off your enchanted land.”
So with a whisper & a kiss, she plucked me soft by my gravely wrist, her hair so lightly against my face, I could smell her charm, her ghastly grace. Like a little lovelorn lad, I followed, only vaguely sad. But when I woke I felt the gasp of fear, the chill she left on my skin, she had been achingly near.
Arrel King—Riverlot 28 