in the rundown restaraunt, where i carved your name into my arm

our eyes are reflections
of january's blue-green dusk.
"put yourself into letters,
paint Me, sing of Me,
and we'll last for eternity!"
Her lines are perfect
as She pulls my arms
around Her hips;
we fall onto the the bed
and through the stars.

My breath on her neck
(like spring's warm breeze)
brings two bodies
into a single movement.
our porcelain hearts, intertwined,
like a spider's delicate silk.
my lips graze Hers,
and Her whisper
makes me shiver.

A sharp bite like shards of glass
borrowed from broken mirrors,
and Her intoxicating poison begins to flow.
my fingers trace her ivory chest
with the sanguine holy water;
they speak their own language
stencilling in Your gentle curves.

and this poem, itself, is a sin
with two stars shimmering for the other.
here, i can think of nothing
more fair or more warm
than her lovely soul
within Her lovely form.

when i ask:
"what shall i write?"

She responds:
"put yourself into letters,
paint me, sing of me,
and we'll last for eternity!"

when i ask:
"what shall i call You?"

She responds:
"call Me yours, Venus or Muse
whatever suits the place and time,
so long as, you make Me Your rhyme!"