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.
Copyright ©
Alesia Leach
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