Art, Poetry
Comment 1

Wedding Bed

I could taste the loneliness on her lips,

While our tongues slipped;

Her body’s sweat her tears–warm against mine,

Soaked in sad time.

She tasted better in death than dark life,

Warmed by the knife

Of the sweet grave she’d come to call her bed

Where light and dark wed.

There I dug to find my lost love hiding;

My soul residing,

I contented myself to feel her bones,

No more my own,

And for all eternity here after,

Her skin’s laughter

Was the closest I came to finding my babe.

“Death’s living slave,”

I heard her say as my body decayed,

“I miss those days,

Soaking under the sun there in your grip,

But life comes quick,

So I chose death’s lasting days to spend

With you in content.”

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry
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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

1 Comment

  1. Pingback: Ain’t nothin’ Controversial – flamingpineconeblog

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