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|| Means of Meeting ||
Was it your own lips that told me of that story, the one that
they say in death, your lover eternal will guide you into the Night.
And that the Night is everlasting; of how those two facts gave promise
that you and I could smother each other forever.
Out of my sight now you beckon, crookedly mischevious, faceless lust
And I slit through the veil just to satisfy my selfish bid.
Cursing, reveling, senseless ecstacy
Red flies, black envelops, white suffocates.
I die, live, die again and wake up swathed in panic as your face- your face, I cannot remember!
Tear through the bandages, rout unspeakable ways just to prove that story of yours true.
The pain is a bliss, an acrid prelude, then curtains fall, and a voice - a name.
Leah.
Have you tired of me, yet?
That mind-wracking time between our stolen, wanton embraces you call life
the Father of Night shoves me back into, he must, must despise me, be jealous so, to slap away my hands cupping your chin.
He jackets me into different bodies, different lives but...
He must love me, for all these lives are at their precipice. My existence, is a rough shove and
you are there again.
Night hides our grins.
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Comments
pur plec loud Says:
Rather than being shallow, I think the er, formatting gives this its own character, which is slightly poetic. It's fun to experiment with that type of thing :3.