Forks. Rain on glass. A church of rot and moss. I watch the town sink slow into dusk. Then you... A candle in the grave, pale and breathing too near my hunger! Gold eyes. A warning. A wound. I stand still as stone. No fire. No peace. Only the old black vow of restraint! And so the lion fell in love with the lamb in a house of salt and shadows! And so the lion fell in love with the lamb while the rain knocked like bone on the window! I saw you moon-pale, fragile, bright as a curse! And so the lion fell in love with the lamb and the dark became a chapel, became a coffin, became home! The halls smell of bleach. Dead light. Muted breath. You move like a hymn half-broken. I keep my distance. A disciplined beast. No mercy. No touch. Only the chain of want and the silence I wear. I know now what hunger means... The body leaning toward ruin! Desire with no sunrise! A cold fire! A grave pulse! A beauty made cruel by longing! And so the lion fell in love with the lamb under rain, under white fluorescents, under the watching night! And so the lion fell in love with the lamb not like spring, not like mercy, but like dusk taking root! Your stillness! Your pulse! Your fragile mortal hush! And so the lion fell in love with the lamb while the lion kept its distance, while the lion learned restraint, while the lion bore the dark! Cold forever. No dawn. The rain keeps falling through Forks, through my bones, through the blackened trees. And I remain a patient ghost beside your breathing.
