Cold fire are her kisses,
dreadful her regard,
The clutches of love
are cruel as the heart
of midnight, earthy--
as the fresh-turned
sod of a paupers grave.
The stench
of alabaster flesh,
slowly rotting,
is small comfort
in my distraction.
Grief consumes my heart,
rude guest that he is.
Alas, to dwell in
splendid indifference,
unburdened by solitude,
unbroken by loss...
It's my own fault,
I suppose;
I really shouldn't
have killed her.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
~Nikki~
May Lu a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)