Life is my current lover. I swig her ephemeral taste from my cupped hands worried as the golden, shimmering liquid rushes through creases and cracks in my jaded hands. Her mood varies through my stages; at times she is of doting temper and roseate kisses but when love evades her, most often than not, her calloused hands damage the pearly flesh in tender places, and discontent paints a surly mood as she digs her crimson brush against the canvas of my self. Life is my inconsistent lover, sometimes doting but most often than not abusive. So I vowed my eternal devotion to Death. We escape under the dark canopy of starless wings; a tryst. I eat of the forbidden feasts in the Kingdom of Hades, grains of scarlet pomegranates staining my chapped lips. Death has promised me perpetuity. But until Life decides to release me from her capricious temper, I shall long for the wintry, rainy comfort of my drowsy affair.