Under thickened heavy lids
His eyes have a dull shine,
Soft and yellow as tallow
Pooled at the base of some guttering candle.
Colorless lips fold over his
Glittering teeth.
Sincerity is his mask
Crooked promptings and
Words of flattery slip easily from his
Clever tongue.

Counsel! Counsel –
My Counselor to me…
Draw near to me.
Draw near that I may
Sip at the heavy sweetness of your
Poisonous words,
And draw your breath into mine.
Yes, let me breathe deeply of your
Dreaming perfume of glory past,
Let me wander the paths of your twisted tales,
They seem so bright and brave.
The dry and brittle rushes were once green also,
There is no dishonor in this ending…
The past is where I will dwell.
Tell me again how the flames of this fire
Are sufficient light for old eyes.
Tell me again of my weakness,
Lest I forget,
And awake,

And slay you.

- Primula