Perceiving The Wold With Hate

I will trace the knot of serpents in your hair
Plot your face, then ascending marble stares
You shall pluck me, masked, from roses-in-despair
Tasting my blood
That runs from worming tongue like prayer

Under pagan veneer snakes a fear
That makes the stars
Grieve, just to be
Uncharted on this eve
When part of me chars a path
Through your heavenly constellations!