Splattered like my fractured heart,
Upon the sky like sensual art.
Blood red and dazzling with sequins.
Her dress drags out my desire,
Her lips smoulder the inner hate filled fire.

The sun is her bloodstain,
Drawing from the blues that wane
Her body was her rapture.
In this dirtiest of endeavours,
My pain weathers.

Even in your death people see only you.
Which is a gift to those that hate you.
For your death is easier to cover,
If no one suspects the lover.