The Wreathe and the Chain

Cold ivory hands
To blood-thursting lips
Lace fingers joined
From whence shall they sip
Silver their eyes
Yet with tongue-swollen lies
Graced with red, fettered rose
Still the smooth venom flows
Soft spoken spells
As their voice often quells
Thus alluring her near
So alone
Come
Fly to me
Fly forever, hold me
Hold me
Polished her skin
Of an ivory blend
Weaving sorrows within
As blue eyes turn to dim
Cherish the wine
Of the fools concubine
Strangling as she fades
So alone
I question why they kissed her
Inside a hollow whispers
Fly