these fingers,
your decayed bones.

these nightmares,
your dying face.

these despaired remembrances of daylight ballads,
your hand, the pen out of ink.

these scars,
these blades,
this ruined flesh.

A promise once made,
to kiss you at midnight,
beneath a solar eclipse.

Instead, I lay here,
gripping your fleshless body,
imagining you are the sky,
The multitude of dancing stars,
the moon stealing the sun
in a heated, begging

act of sworn devotion.