Throes of Passion
Your eyes have spoken such disdain
amidst the berth that we have lain
the silken flesh porcelain
scented petals from within.
The poesy without word
from lips claret unfurled
such passion in the midst of throe
and breathless strewn among the woe.
Lay we now dipped in the ink of our eyes
into the pools of acquiescence, our demise
I press my soul up against yours
I wilt away into the gloomy core
the rhythm in my heart no more…
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