Dark of the moon

As iron is eaten away by rust, so too are the passionate,
consumed by our own mixture of madness.
I see ravishment reflected in the ancient patina of a silver chalice
and I open my mouth, eager to drink.  
My lover will taste the acrid grapes crushed by our kisses.
 
Those of us that see with our own eyes,  
feel with our own beating hearts; we become desire
and the melancholy dance of depravity  
burns a desperate shade of rapture.
In our Cimmeria, where the light is forbidden,
it burns as inscrutably as the dark side of the moon.
 
We fall into the spell of poetry, music,  
and the wild arrogance of our sex;  
after the storm, we are all that is necessary of love -  
naked and unfinished.