Exposed in Her Divine Repose
Exposed in Her Divine Repose
Tantalized by a gaunt image of salvation,
A Countess – his famous whore
Kneels by the skeletal throne of lies
Where he reins – her draconian master.
Her awoken mind - infested with frustration
Coils in his gaze as faded lips word the epilogue – nevermore
And manacled wrists beg, but find no mercy in azure eyes
Veiled with secret of sin – his personal disaster.
Fighting a battle already lost but never begun,
She knows not why by his side she stays
For He shows no mercy nor provides the light
For the Countess – she mourns on stained bed-sheets, poisoned and hazed ‘till dusk
Where her storm-whipped body endures His touch – shackled ankles can not run
While the blood trickles slowly – on the bed of thorns she lays.
And above the raven-black hair bondaged angels render of the gory sight
Blind before two tangled bodies and love scented with sweat and musk.
A lithe body, verdant and fresh,
Exposed in its divine repose –
Her static silhouette glimmers, caught in the silver dust
Of moonlit features carved in ebony flesh
And carefully watched as satin sheets arose,
Stripping the innocent and flaming His lust.
Gore-flecked nightmares and vast walls
Wherein her phosphorent shadow rests condemned
Whispering of vengeful love hushed into hate – She whispers alone.
And Sin and Lust play their ancient roles
Unleashing celestial screams that from heaven decent
And land into the milky white throat of her figure forlorn.
Written three years ago - have mercy.
Tantalized by a gaunt image of salvation,
A Countess – his famous whore
Kneels by the skeletal throne of lies
Where he reins – her draconian master.
Her awoken mind - infested with frustration
Coils in his gaze as faded lips word the epilogue – nevermore
And manacled wrists beg, but find no mercy in azure eyes
Veiled with secret of sin – his personal disaster.
Fighting a battle already lost but never begun,
She knows not why by his side she stays
For He shows no mercy nor provides the light
For the Countess – she mourns on stained bed-sheets, poisoned and hazed ‘till dusk
Where her storm-whipped body endures His touch – shackled ankles can not run
While the blood trickles slowly – on the bed of thorns she lays.
And above the raven-black hair bondaged angels render of the gory sight
Blind before two tangled bodies and love scented with sweat and musk.
A lithe body, verdant and fresh,
Exposed in its divine repose –
Her static silhouette glimmers, caught in the silver dust
Of moonlit features carved in ebony flesh
And carefully watched as satin sheets arose,
Stripping the innocent and flaming His lust.
Gore-flecked nightmares and vast walls
Wherein her phosphorent shadow rests condemned
Whispering of vengeful love hushed into hate – She whispers alone.
And Sin and Lust play their ancient roles
Unleashing celestial screams that from heaven decent
And land into the milky white throat of her figure forlorn.
Written three years ago - have mercy.