Lined in black lace,
Silhouetted by a pretty face,
Grabbing, twisting in love's embrace,
Sweetest sin, the devil's taste.

Red wine in crystal she sips.
Words pursed on cherry lips.
Waiting, waiting her heart skips,
All but one, she's dealt her chips.

Left alone to watch and stare,
As her fingers run through his hair.
He does not feel it, he does not care,
She wants to grab, rip and tear.

Putrid stink wafts through the door.
Her love leaves, he is no more.
Silent tears run to the floor.
He can not see how her heart is sore.

Too many years too late.
She has sealed her fate.
Numb to all, her own opiate.
If only she had patience to wait.

Child's play, she didn't win.
Tossing, turning, up to her chin.
Death, war's apocaliptic twin,
Dead, like the devil sick of sin.



Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Fas, in the year 507 AD.