Beneath The Surface

The raven calls to me, with his eyes so dark
His feathers so black
They appear almost white
In this days last light

I have seen the snake underneath your skin
I tried not to look
Strands of muscle shifting under a shimmering mist
And eyes like fire, dancing, calling
And what am I but a moth dipping and weaving
A wild thing
A hopeless one
I saw light reflecting both from her scales
And your skin frozen white
Like ice drifting on the Baikal

I never been there before
But with you I crossed margins so easily
It came to me like breathing
Like breathing in, breathing out
And you with your fire
Always beneath the surface
Cold and silent and pale to the eyes
But I have looked deeper
So my wings burned

What are you, a god?
I would understand then
This unnatural need,
This dazzling silence,
Yearning to be filled
Still you are but a man –
And yet not even this.