A serpent bite hard my heart
as I remember the betrayal.
The sins of the flesh and the soul
make me bleed, infernal.
Your cruel red mouth
is like a venomous rose from the mire.
No thorne go as deep as the rose's
they say love is more cruel than lust.
The serpents tongue
catch fire in a flame.
with unexpected pain.
The sweet poisonous kiss
has a subtile aftertaste of death.
In a chamber of thine
the sins becomes prayers.
On a bed of torment
the pain melt to tears.
Languishing wet eyelashes arises
as I bleed internal.
Bloodstains leave a trail on the blossoms
in the garden where hands reach heaven from hell.
Poetry by Elise
Read 900 times
Written on 2009-10-30 at 20:51
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