I love your languorous way of speaking
Like you are flirting with the ghosts
Of a bygone lifetime

I love the wistful gleam in your eyes
When you whisper lecherous secrets
Into the crook of my neck

I love the way your tears never seem to
Leave the velvety and fragile surface
Of your cherubic face

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have walked on these thorn-laden grounds
Long enough to know that the forlorn,
The vacuous, the shattered, the decrepit
Never receive the exaltation they deserve

But your radiant, ivory skin is nonpareil
Your eulogies the most poetic
Your macabre dreams sing to me
And coldly stir me in my slumber

You are a true testament to the idea that
All things broken, all things bad are beautiful
The miserable azure in your eyes are merely a
Sliver to the beautiful tragedy you harbour