On the Wings of a White Horse

In mighty contractions power infiltrates the senses.
The flight and dream beyond human pretenses. Sensations smell as heat singes her mane and heel. Boarding your back in retrospect loosed the seventh seal.

On wings we glide.
Papae Satan on the march.

Time will quench the fire on lips of stones parched.
The black tail of the dragon absolved as the light reflects true color.
We ride at once and for all into eternity of the forbidden grey matter.

Silent wings in motion.
Mane and tail rippling in the wind.
Draped appendage clinging to your back, As hell forces the beginning to circumvent and end
......over and over again.

- Blanche McLanahan