Nindaranna, she calls, temptress maiden of perpetual erudition,
dawn’s succubus of the wisean. She whispers in visions, the consort of spectral union.
Beckon she, my awakening from her throne, set low on the horizon commanding all the seven seas.
The risen whore of Babylon, mother of all fruits yet to delight. Pandora whose gifts throw shadows on all other desire, and hurls the mortal aspirations unto each of seven infinite abysses.
Glorious winds howl her divine melody past my ears, I am awakened by her and she consumes me with no less abandonment than I consume her, fixated I stare, for there is not now, nor ever else a place to look with such equaled adoration.
To know Nindaranna is to one’s own heart. She, goddess, is surely more grace to mine eyes than the nectar of love itself, as love can be only made prisoner by my mortal estate, furnished too modest to abode her bountiful volume.
Morn cock crows, and my industry summoned, through drawn curtains I fight the sidereal veil of blinding obfuscation and its confoundment of much which is to be held without regard.
Her Angels from their mountain peaks, harken me “come hither”. I abide, for they teach me the dance of each hue, where all become one and one become all, from each vista more is revealed. Each complete themselves, yet none whole without each.
We engage in such passionate bliss that I am not lost or consumed, more, I never was. And always it was we, always we eight, for without my eye their scintillate bodies is naught but unbroken shadow in the unwalled passage of endless light.
I stand atop those mountain peaks, and survey the seas and land before me. A great flood must wash away that embered dust, that nothing remains than my bare feet washed upon Masis.
Behold withdrawn tide which relinquishes new world, I shall claim crown over, my queen forever at my side.