07 October, 2015

A Correspondence with Death: To

Sweet, awful Lover
Pay me attention, turn me into stone
with lyrical plagues and refused apologies
Stunning and sharp, we spar before the embrace
Your silent fondness always unannounced
and I kiss you, trembling
already at my own wake
Lover, darkened
Your mockeries are deemed as truth
You say finally, I am beautiful
as I falter, inspired by the notion of escape
But there is no real struggle in the end
and you live in marrow, plague ready
We embrace and its grief spreads in a puddle
Sweet lover, adoring no one
It is you who is gruesome
It is you who created solitude
Drink of my blood, hide in my hair
I was born to lay in your arms,
still bones in dreams
I choke on crumbs you bate with, and sleep
It is you who lives inside all fears
This is your bloodied, timeworn undertaking

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