He dances with my solemn self.

Replete and content to bide his time.

Watchful and waiting as a silhouette,

Severity in carried hibernation.

The slumber always ends with the ritualistic,

The greater offer of an unwilling supplicant.

Righteous Red, title of a song he ochestrates,

Waving his unseen hand in silence,  justified indignation of immoral flesh.

Dark intentions will coalesce, with the intangible stare that seethes within.

A shade of murk that fixes itself to me.