Blog, Gothic, Poetry, spirituality, Writing

In Secret Love

Red velvet

Midsummer nights

Your body, and my own.

 

Lips are real

When form is not;

The weight of a soul, with pleasure I drown.

 

Memories of things greater

Rival Ivy in green,

As you poison my heart, my voice taken.

 

The moment, condensed,

To ambrosia; an opus,

Where one final breath in parting, leaves my love, ever hoping.

 

 

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