Black is the moonless midnight when the stratocumulus veil has shrouded the hill tops and extinguished the sounds save the tin rasping of ravens claws on anchored vessels or in sleeping steeples in the mission. My mistress is not restricted to wearing black I dress myself according to the rising flow of my womb and the tidal bulge that circles the globe in the hidden nerves of the mysterious secret of existence. I adorn myself with ribbons of red and turquoise as well as the green and gold of seasons and sadness and life affirming silvers that flourish alone in nature without the need for machine or witness.

This decorated gossamer armour appears around me at the insistence of my will which is controlled by a force that is beyond the atomic minstrels of science and imperceptible to the sceptics and priests who follow scriptures penned in ink rather than blood.

The ruffled sleeves and open necklines reveal pieces of the puzzle that I have created and you have become a part of. Every dress, blouse, wrap and shawl that my body uses is like a transforming animal who takes the form of mammal, amphibian and insect depending on the wind and the clothes I wear devour the weak prior to me draining any sustenance their flesh could provide for me and my dark angels who serve a power greater than any light.