You inhale those vapid vapours from a flower
plucked from the Gardens of Ulthar –
remaining heavy in body, the fragile self rises.
Drifting past broken deductions – cloud weary wanderer,
you settle – Carcosa awaits below.
There, The Maiden’s gaze will hold you –
as she sings Cassilda’s Song.
shoggoths slide past mist –
embrace the weeping wizened –
tattered yellow lips.