From The Roundhole

I feel it in my chest, it pulls at the innermost parts of me.

Lupus rises to the surface, the ocean is moved by its mood alone.

What was once dark is no more, sometimes.

Made more frightening by its friend-enemy, fog.

Older than evil, younger than love.

A delight for some, not so for me. I feel it.

It pulls me. Pushes me. And it makes sense to me.