These beakers are my canvas
And brewing her is my art.
To craft the deadly elixir,
That stops and starts my heart.
Two parts lovely,
Another three of yearn,
That subtle hint of sweetness
Gives it that extra burn.
Her crimsons blush and her violets spark
Then crash into her blues,
They swirl and twirl and bleed together-
A dance of violent hues.
Her colors mix into a bubbling
And her scent fills up the room.
Mesmerized... I am transfixed
By my bottled doom.
I pull out her stopper
and press her to my lips.
I drink her down, fast and slow.
Large gulps and tiny sips.
Immediately my body's seized
By her cold embrace!
Then I feel my insides boil,
Blood rushes to my face!
A foot through darkened doorstep,
My nape in devil's jaw!
She tears me from inside out
With tooth and fevered claw!
Desperately I reach for her-
Just a few drops more!
They trickle slowly down my throat
And pierce me to my core!
I need not water nor fine wine,
She is my only draught;
The taste of either, happily,
I have long ago forgot.
I will draft another batch tomorrow
Of this there is no doubt.
My love, my venom, my sweet ichor...
The poison I cannot live without.