Her Majesty, The Whore

Dead Silence echoes in my Mind

Like little Fish following Whales
Ravished through Her hair. I bind
Our Souls with chimes of hells Bells.
The Space between us fills with Water
In which I Baptise new-found Gloom
Of neverlasting Binds. I bother
The sacred Silence of Her doom.
And I daresay She is Intact.
How calm Her wounds Fester and Swell.
Under the Scarlet colour. I Act
As if Her Eyes locked in a Shell.