I have been underneath glass, the musk of soil moist between mine toes. All have come through as muffled, the tongues foreign and benign.
Miss Tamastara, mine beloved daughter-of-fur passed beyond flesh into Death. It is of mourning which hangs about mine shoulders. A spider slipped venom as trickster and swiftly She slipped secretly from beyond those amber wolf orbs.
This hour of the Dreamscape hunts to reveal mine journey forth to the vibration of Home
upon mine lips, the slick cobblestones in decay at heel. Haunted. I wonder at what awaits therein as I have allowed a full passage of distance between yet now the hour echoes to Return. I shall gather the means, ache to breathe in this skin anew with eyelashes stitched too wide.
The Piscean hour drums the birthing, heartbeat quick with Life.
We remain Glowing pure, interlocked into essence and I yet wonder through the stench of blood how ever did mine path cross to such an amazing Union through destruction.