MadameUlliel

 Dear Stranger, You don't know me. And I don't know you. Maybe it's better that way. But then again, maybe we would be happier if we did know each other. Right now, I'm sitting at my desk, with the sunlight streaming in the window, writing this letter for you. Hopefully I'll finish it by tonight, so that tomorrow I can take it to the coffee shop on the corner and drop it on the floor, or in your lap, or maybe in the lap of the person next to you so they can give it to you...because they don't seem like the type to read it, so they'll obviously just pass it on. I like music - except terrible rap. And I love the written word more than most,

When the night courted the earth in a sacramental serenade The moon was the sickle of the reaper's blade And starry lace over the obsidian eve was laid; Constellations wandered the heavens on an arcane crusade And riding in his own dark glory was a knight of light and passion wrought. His passage was heralded by the heavens' silent choir His way was lit by the seraphs'  tears of fire But all the prestige in the world would not quell his desire; The unfaltering champion Lancelot. The starlight glittered in his silver-spangled mail It shined like ivory upon his smooth skin pale Distinguished against his raven mane, black as bale As