The Troll Queen's Bride
Apocalypse Child, the Devil's Bride,
she has no masters
before him.
They walk and they talk, they swim down the Nile.
And each one kills the other in the morning.
Over coffee, over wine, I'm doing my time
in the Demiurge's prism of mourning.
So clad in a ghost, so white I'm the snow,
I blanket the forest in hoarfrost.
Sterile yet fertile, deserter of deserters.
My girdle
Aphrodite,
the chorus.
Suddenly, all symptoms of the infections of the light elves were gone -
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