The juryman hammers!

She breathes into her heart the moons light
Breathes into her soul the weary knight!
The crown of thorns; its incubus stars
The brigadier’s landmine legs and arms...
Customary wears the way of starlight
Shellshock eyes full of nitrite.
Nocturnal corridors of day
She wears in her clarinet of clay.
She is the music of life we love to play..?
She is a friend every bit risqué.
Her reflexion is a mirror!
She nurses in a motherly horror.
She mothers the harlot the angel of duty
She dons the apron and fruit is her booty.
She’s the choir girl with a virginal faith.
Before even she’s gone she is a wraith!
She is a primordial sunflower
The midshipmen’s oceans anchor.
She is the dualism between love and hate
The soldier wining Twix stalemate!
She is a priestess his Joan of Arc
Iron maiden of stone his quark.
She is a servant of some justice
The juryman hammers! no soft pumice.