Glancing up at the sky, he nods goodbye to a silver sliver of moonlight and steps into the alleyway.
Wickedly lustful, a sinful delight,
Your hair is aflame in the glowing moonlight!
Your skin alabaster, so pale and so wan;
I raise up the cup and adore Babalon!
— In Nomine Babalon: 156 Adorations to the Scarlet Goddess
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“I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there,
Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate,
A woman fairer than a pomegranate.
A silver spear her hands of lotus bear,
One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight.
She pointed to the East with flashing eyes:
‘Thou canst not see her—but my Queen shall rise.’
Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure
I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure.
I could have loved her. No: she was too wise.
Her presence was to gracious to endure.
‘She did not bid me go and chain me to her,’
I cried, comparing.” [via]