Black is for me, the color of my eyes,
Holding you under a spell, full blown death.
Slinking jaguars prowl my soul;
Red lipped smiles with rotting flesh behind tasseled curtains.
Your skin is reminiscent of cocoa.
Drunk on a rainy day to quell the chill.
Warmth, flows through you,
Fire to revive the grave; to give rise to flames.
“Walk with me”, I say to you.
Down a beaten path far from humans.
Eerie drums sound in the distance.
The drums of Enilerun calling out to her imps.
Totems swing from trees,
Realization hits you.
“Struggling binds you stronger”, I whisper.
The magic of the grave weakens your senses.
A soul for borrowed time.
Your entrails hanging on the threshold of Makun’s sepulchre.
He will thank me for the meal after we make love.
A artful lover even in death.