In the catacombs lies my love, reposed
in the throes of darkness where demons roam;
dim lights shone on empty tombs
a guilty verdict reached before the trial could begin.
Let the dust mark the passage of time
and make divine the smallest of specks.
The wretched stench bespoke of rotting flesh,
fill our souls with musty cement,
and gouge out my heart so I can feel no pain.