To Death, My Lover.

I lay you down
you make that sound
of velvet petals whispering
in the tender rain
 
You touch the knife
to my throat
and linger..
 
Could you see, Love..
the crimson rivers
beneath my skin
reflecting off the gleam
of your moonlit chrome?  
 
Your eyes are ebony
against the midnight stars
your face, ivory and bone
though tender, harmonize
with the agony of a life
I wish I never kept
 
And one artistic passion
runs its ruby thread  
through the madness,
that weaves and leaves  
this declaration of love
for you to inhale and covet
feral and undone-
 
So press the blade, Love
cold and simple,
an attempt to lift  
this boredom off
my apathetic heart
 
That passion, my thread..
 
is Death.