Lookalike

Blessed cold darkness my light is not artless.
I say words in a way that seems like I'm not saying them.
My foot softly cramps and my tongue sinks into wetness.
I have her fire and I have his good taste then.

Oranges and blues keep the wails on you.
The knights of the house are not on view.
Protection from deletion and canteen stew,
to dream with arms raised and to glut on O2.