Blood And Honey

Often I have thought only of you. My partner and my lost guide. What is left, is left, won't you but assume that it is. Wasteful empty glazed clay jars. Sweet golden honey from dover it is. Because of this you are dear. As I drew the veil from your eyes. There it is, going forth riding through clover am I. And of all of those which I follow you see. Form does not lie when it dies. Under any condition, it does not remain to us all that long. And us, the mighty the brave, and the wise men have traveled between. And in the silent grave. The way all must go if we choose to go. With love and blood, desire, and good faith. With it you became transcendental.