Pas De Deux
Depression’s wedded ring,
Black mantle wings
draped from above,
That lonely mourning dove.
-Save me from the life I know…
By my hand the razor ensued,
Cutting through the vein’s root,
And on this night we shall wed
Under a full Moon; In my burial bed.
So we lipped, Her blood-red lips,
Barely hesitant to grasp Her hips.
For She is my Goddess, I confess,
Black was Her God-given dress.
As I espied Her hypnotic sway,
Ravens flapped to Her pall ballet,
This mistress’ tyrannical foreplay.
Through my shirt – snow lit ...