105: Absolutism

The lights are tired, let them rest.
Brilliance infused that glows dimly, weak
in the fog of velvet night. The ghost of Apollo surrounds them,
warming up the air with a linger, never shouts
But whispers unrestrained. Yet, their life commands attention
in the absence of Le Roi.
In daytime: phantom lights that never were.
Instead - The Leader of the Muses.

104: Tweed

Opal dreams of turquoise ruby-esque
Gems glisten sharply, a definitive cut
on the faces of these worlds.
How stable, how solid the strength!
Carved perfection - adored, and cherished to Rust.
Polished lust that is bitter
and wishful convenience;
and the tradition that weighs down on our ivory bones.
Catch the spectrum, encase it in a life of its own.
Bound by the unspoken, white porcelain dreams...
... Swallow crystals,
Drink diamonds,
They ravage the caves and savour the find
While we ravage the stone.