Death's Paramour

The Reaper's cloak, a velvet night, Embroidered with stars that never ignite. He walks with a woman, pale and serene, Her laughter a whisper, a wind unseen. She is Death's paramour, his constant bride, A shadow that walks by his chilling side. Her touch is a frost, her kiss a cold sigh, A promise of slumber, a lullaby. He offers her roses, the petals all black, A bouquet of sorrow, a lover's attack. She takes them with grace, a smile on her lips, The taste of oblivion, his cryptic gifts. They dance in the graveyard, a waltz of despair, Where tombstones stand silent, and whispers fill air. He holds her close, a bone-chilling embrace, A love that consumes, with a haunting grace. For Death's paramour craves the final embrace, A lover's surrender, a time and a place. To join him in darkness, a journey untold, Where souls find their peace, in the cold, silent fold. So fear not the Reaper, nor his lover so fair, For their embrace is a promise, a love beyond care. A passage to stillness, a slumber profound, Death's paramour awaits, on hallowed ground.