‘Twas not a fear till she crossed my eyes

Unlike my own

Hers were barren and absent life

That very same void shifted from black to white

As her idle knives would open wide

This little old devil turned water to wine

To exist in her world, that was my only crime

For it all belonged to the Devil’s wife

My only punishment

To be consumed by the tide
Alas, it returned from day to. . .