Someday may never rise in opalescence, nor the soft down of evanescent grey…someday…the construct of whimsy and longing…an entity of insincerity, a ghastly nightmare galavanting as the sum of all parts, amorphous in existence and mocking in familiarity…someday…a construct of fairy tales and the formidable ever after, deceptive and destructive…but Today…ahhh Today…where the Witching hour drapes me in velveteen voices and gossamer strands…where I am synonymous with the end, and yet, still outliving time…where a chorale of colours prisms my mind and gilded edged cards call my sentient name in geometric forms…for I exist on the fevered breath, grazing blood lusting fangs, in an honouring of the milky white moon…

E. A. O'Connell. March 26, 2021.