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