My Morbid Ardor

Love is the purest exemplar of self-destruction
Because I’d allow myself to be destroyed for you
I can taste that very fatalism on your tongue
I can feel that very swoon in your pulse each embrace
Every peek, every moan, every quiver… a mirror
Our salacious lives surround us with sanguine faces
With well-deserved glances of cheap emerald and dull mint
How I pity their lust, my love… how I play in yours
Both give me joy, though I prefer the warmth of your mess

Being with you has shown me love is death in motion
Is the stirred finality of the way of all flesh
For the Reaper moves through lives, changing them forever
Every moment we share rips me from my chrysalis
The modest in love mention that they’d eat their cancer
Addicts crave simply to have the other’s abortion
Tin rings when held before treasures of our bewitchment
Shames them to Ouroborus’ fate: eat themselves whole
And we laugh

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