Beating Heart
It reeked of death The stench of quietus With mangled breath In a naked room
A Mother’s Love
With the blackest of moss I cover you like sheathing To shelter you from the rays That burn you with scars
With Soft Breath
Lover my dear May I devour you Without foreplay or warning With the gladsome and enjoyment Of a thousand orgasms
Golden Violin
He made a song about me Sang to me like therapy Enthralled by his golden violin He pledged his devotion In pieces of poetry
