A haunting mignon. My sweet Musette,
of darkness. A pale silhouette weeping
on cold stones, in heaven’s crypt.
Cracked by the frost of blind angels,
carved from bones, bleeding in the rain
with haloes. Trapped in a holy tomb
of profane.
My eternal call. Half dead, half alive
walking on cracked bones. My reason to
live.
The glitter in the eye, when you are
exhaustly tired. My sweet Musette. My
eternal love. A haunting mignon.
