Avenue of the Queen

In her porcelain eyes I see the movement of decline,
Her lily flesh flushes with the colors of desire.
Sick unto death with love, the muse pours into me,
And now I bury my darkness inside of her.
She is dead in the water,
I hold her hand and I watch her drown.
Her signs of life will diminish to nothing,
I watch her eyes as she’s sinking down.
[She is dead in the water,
Dead weight like a lead anchor.
Chained to nothing but the
Memories that are holding her down.]
The silent, perpetual night spills
Out like a fecal fountain of youth.
And we kiss where the water comes to greet her,
And takes her thereafter.
Tangled like bodies impassioned,
The reeds are a halo about her head.
Her mouth is an open grave —
Follow the rushlights to where I must bury my dead.
In the gray of her eyes I see our brutal fall from grace,
Her lips, as blood, receive the sacrament of suffocation.
Sick unto death with love, the muse floods into me,
And now I bury my darkness with her.
The silent, perpetual night spills
Out like a fecal fountain of youth.
And we kiss where the water comes to greet her,
And takes her thereafter.
And now the silent, perpetual night spills out like a fecal fountain of youth.