to my Priestess of Black Shrouds

To my priestess of black shrouds

I owe my lives

the lesser physical

and the greater spiritual.

To my priestess of black shrouds

I tell no lies

I speak not in fancy

nor in fear

I act not in search of acceptance and love

for she gives both

freely.

To my priestess of black shrouds

I am frail and scared and broken

she has no inkling how beautiful I

look

she has no idea how ugly I

feel

so we have no pact to continue

such an illusion

and in the midst of her embrace

I can forget it for but a second.

Within the black silks of my lady’s sight

I am stripped bare

and though I fall unto my knees in the almighty weight

of my shameful shame

not she

together we know only bliss

full darkness.