It was a crescent moon,
Who enticed my starving eyes,
I picked the crippled chalice of doom
To collect Azrael’s enamoured sighs!
There was a whisper in the air
The moon flaunted my blood stained hair,
Upon the nest where Azrael took rest,
Scourging the flesh of her dead breast.
The moon shone in an obnoxious lustre,
Sipping my blood as I counted the hour,
I saw him snore in a vigorous roar,
A prey to live when all are dead,
A moon for an egg, a girl for a bread.
My desires filled the streaks of the moon,
and Azrael took the solar storm,
devouring my eyes under Machu Pichu’s inspection,
the protagonists of my naval turned into a warm-hole!