What would you have of me.
We all simmer with
Untenable desire.
What is the struggle of
Mortality, but to
Seek that which you
Should not until you
Break.

And you will break.

What solace would you find
If I slithered atop you to
Join our bodies in
Approximation of bliss.
If I were to lean forward,
Wordless with dead eyes and
Cold touch instead remarking
No, you are not her.

And I will break you.

What joy would lurk for us
If I drew back my veil to
Smile, purple fingerprints
Dotting my neck fading
Under toothy exultation,
My bloodied tongue swirling to
Formulate the exact knell.
I miss her.

And we will both break.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Mayan, in the year 862 AF.