Belle Morte

The Beautiful Death of a Cold Heart.
By Donovan Blasdell
 
Alone she glides through the forest
Pockets of moonlight caressing her skin.
Flowing through the night
Her skin soft as the wind.
She hunts for a soul at midnight.
Searching for the one who can reach her
Searching for the sensation of flight.
Searching for the one that will bring her back to the light.
Clad for the ball.
Velvet gloves of obsidian.
Wrapped in a scarlet dress
Hair a water fall of crimson  
Alabaster skin waiting for a soft caress
Eyes of sapphire reflecting the light of the stars
Through the night she searches
For one she lost
For one she has yet to find.  
When she finds him it will be the end of them both.
They will know one another as never before.
At the end of her endless night she will once more find her light.
He will hold her like a lover should.
In that moment his heart will not waiver.
At his end he will know her.  
In the final beats of his heart
He will love her
Like no other before.
And none ever again.
His lover.
His friend.
His beginning.
And ultimately his end.
Never has there been a more beautiful death than this.
His death upon her kiss.