Mer lithlaug tur sagaralaugur khresh. Durgnar duri gutha esh.
Lightning dwarf, I love you.
Straddling an abyss of death foretold, the stumpy legs of ego fall short,
but hope perdures.
Crisscrossing, indolent, intent but malcontent in your absence,
sweet lighting dwarf.
How can this one, but a sad initiate of your mysteries, ever begin
to fathom the depth of your furious scribblings?
Return to us, lightning dwarf, that we may know the unspoken joys
beneath your beard,
the lonely trails beneath your feet.
Your pen (or is it mine?), the hammer of heaven,
lays bruised butterfly strokes on an anvil betwixt Venusian whiskers,
aquiver with the buzzing bees of your scent,
a honeyed patina on the dawn, the promise
ultimate after untold lonely nights.
A soul bereft, yet doppelganging duplicity lies in shadows, striving for the one.
Twin souls tumble forth to the light.