Death is lustful,
I fear it’s malignity, how it lures me in.
With his warmth, his cold, he’s beautiful.
At five years, the water pulled, it was playful.
I remember the tight grip , gasping in vain.
Kaleidoscope vision, a light, light. Painful.
My mother’s anger; death is more peaceful.
Her mother saving me, then their disdain.
He has followed me since, thirstful.
From birth, I know I’m a handful.
Will you dare try loving me? Don’t refrain.
Life with me is passionate, heartful.
Death is lustful,
At eight, he took a friend, life is mundane.
At ten, losing grandma left me mournful.
My blood, sweat and tears to be this fruitful.
You’re a waxing gibbous, I, a crescent wane.
Can you love me like death does? Truthful,
burning, fearless. Truthful. Death is lustful
–and so am I.
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