When the hounds are too weak
to pursue a foolish lover
the gates of Hell unfurl
And black swans
swarm in the sulfurous plume
A fugue of her memories blotting out the sun
like a mad flock of black swans
throwing shadows that stick to your breath
so every word has the shape of your agony
a foolish lover is beset with storms
that gather on the tongue like a French kiss
and the swell of her ******* are now the dim fruits
that blight your lips with longing

this love is the mark of a beast

a beast that picks up around the house
before she drops by...

to break it's heart.