When I hear his name, every hair on my bodybristles with desire.When I seethe moon of his face,I grow moist like a moonstone.When that manas dear to me as breathsteps close enough to stroke my neck,the thought of jealousyis shattered in my heart, which, sometimes,can be hard as diamond. - A . . . (More)

A verse of inappropriate sobriety: The body of Duncan lay dead,Still warm on his kingly white bed.Washed her hands did she,Cleaned his blade did he,And the salty green waters were red.