It must be dropped into the Catacombs;
my love for you that is.
Lucid lights tremble as I choose to forget you,
the taste of you that is.
I wore white gloves when I touched you;
your sultry skin that is.
I traced the freckles from head to toe, on
your sultry skin that is.

Tailors knitted my love for you deep in my lungs.
When I breath now, black dye excavates my body;
those are the memories of you;
Those are the secrets of you.

It must be trapped in the Catacombs,
my love for you that is.
In between my pillows, I smile.
The Catacombs have buried my love for you.

I don't have to anymore.