VILE PASSION

She lays before me, body long and out-stretched
And soft against my bed with dark blankets
Like mist draped around her form,
Elegant in the candle’s tender light, flickering a
Watery gold path along her skin.
Shadows cut across the room like masks
Over solemn faces that pray to be seen
By our eyes... by our touch.
Ribbons of raven hair bleed down her face
Onto her breasts, melting in the surrounding shrouds,
And her lips speak to me with a spiked tongue
Of wicked pleasures... darker than night
Darker than loneliness,
For it is this emptiness that draws me toward her
With a bed filled with vile passion and endless sin.
Her naked body rubs against my pale flesh,
Lips alongside my neck and breath crying out
For desire, and I find myself surrendering
To this long awaited death.

Brian Grisham, 1997