Underworld

 

Sweet nectar 

    upon my lips 

Tastes delectable of ripening berries, 

  Pressed, running, and dripping down. 

Inhaled pleasure. Lost appetites. 

  Carnal and red slipping, slipping 

Against my neck. 

The air is damp, 

  and I am dead. 

A marooned underworld. 

A ghost amongst dying roses, 

  Everything wet 

of earth and soil, and my insides 

Soaking into the coffin and silt. 

It is the shadow of heaven. 

  It is the dying of blooms and flesh. 

It is a slow and captured 

  Stroll with Death, a beautiful creature; 

A thing that walks between paradigms. 

Taking my hand, 

  I enjoy the dying blossoms and depth 

In these shadow lands. 

There is still love here. 

  It is not void at all, 

   But abysmal and astonishing. 

It is not black, but rather a world of dark romance 

Bleeding hearts 

  and compassions eternal. 

It is another depth of beauty, 

  shades by shadows, rather than highlights.