Dahlia, can you sense the lust that commands me
The intangible white heat and pleasurable intoxication
That the rust on my fingers invokes, my spirit thirsting like a dying man
Awaiting for the tide to rise in the desert or a
Pleasant mirage with which to fool an aging heart?

You are my Purgatory, neither my Heaven nor my Hell
I find release in not your physical body, but the soul trapped within the
Maze of your ribs, peeking through the bars of a dreadful prison
I have marked it with your own shade of kiss, with the brand
That screams of another's lips now reddened and gleaming

Like an awaiting thorn hidden beneath the petals of your sinful form
A nectar most would compare to the forbidden fruit  in Eden
You have enticed many with your voluptuous curves, your seductive shell
I am the epitome of one that has been seduced, teased by your provocative
Nature, and so I reap the ecstasy brought on by your pained moans, your

Melodious cries, like wind chimes swinging in the breeze of night
The wounds I inflict have only made your body more enticing to my
Wandering eyes, my itching hands that wish to roam the terrain of your
Pale flesh once again, but there are others I must attend to
Other souls in which to reach inside and reveal

So I leave you here for the world to see my work, the beauty of my
Black Dahlia, my caged little raven
I now understand what they meant when the caged bird sings for
Your dying breath was a merry tune I shall not soon forget.