Death of a Rose then let me blow hot breathes up your skirt, scalding and flowing, melting as it will.

Maelstrom wide it hungers,
rumours aplenty,
divinity shall share with travails boxed.

mental daggers scraped across your flesh,
carving my name upon your brow,
lifted in these decaying teeth,
intended to glow,
sweeping debris from this funeral waltz,
making the battle legendary and forgetful.

ah, my tenderling, feed once more.
what's it to you?
who go