the blackest gift
It is a night of dark desire, a song of death,
wolves vent their loneliness. The dark one
wakens.
Curling wisps of death shrouds her gaunt form,
a lurking dread.
Her midnight hair cascades over
translucent ivory shoulders, and her
full blood red lips part slightly, to taste the
red tears streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of ecstasy,
I awaken.
1 comment:
I like poetry of any kind; if I didn't know you, you would freak me out posting that! How the heck are you buddy?
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