Average Rating 0.00 (0 votes) You must login to vote Soiled by the monstrous whiplash of her lover’s colossal wrath and the tail-end of madness the Muse bows her head bares the soft slant of her neck where fine silken nectared tips await the vulgar imprint of Mrs Kaburagi’s decrepit hand I watch the 33 golden suns on her back meld in a seamless ball of fire Appalled at such blasphemy An obvious sundering of reason And what’s left of sanity- The Muse succumbs!

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