the dance macabre~with the talented Adagio

 
Of dark tongues of rogues and ridders
the language of the devil's brood
idioms of the games they play
taking advise from, "Occam's razor"
that everything should be easier
including death as I feel your pulse
with a kiss emulating dark cyanide
scented with almonds and lust

note my red hourglass shape
a metaphor for times up in the infinite
as the night itself takes form within me
my vision blurs and I can see you in the aether
perhaps a dance
chance led us this way
your dedication pays
inception's due collected in pain
when hell's master becomes beloved prisoner