Upon a Trefoil, my Love—Crimson Tears

Upon a trefoil, my love—crimson tears. And saintly eyes, my
Demonic curse. The soul, flushed with scars: the mind, sere’d
With wounds. Such is silence—a lulling daze. But heart to
Spirit, such sacred moments—at once, a fathom deep. Such
Fervor, the bride of Christ; and such passion, the ache of faith.
Thus alive, torn asunder: this love, the width of darkness: this
Pain, the breadth of phantoms. And deep my heart, a flaming
Kiss; and deep my soul, a broken reed.   

Upon a trefoil, my love—crimson tears. And saintly eyes, my
Demonic curse. Fated passion, the path to sorrow; and tainted
Joy, a fated scar. Thus the soul, a cultic flame, fraught with
Terror, the bleeding moon. But depth the sun, the dreams of
God; and depth the heart, the touch of life. Thus afflicted, a
Teary light, the fuse of breath, burning bright.