Your Crimson Crescent Moon

Your body heat reverberates gently, languidly against my flesh, melting like candle wax over forsaken bones. I see your heart beat with intention beneath the horror film font that your wanton corpse has become. I would pull you apart, limb from limb, just to to taste the blood that flows from your pure form. Your pain is my fountain of youth, an unfortunate answer to a question I never asked. I taste death in the air and you crack a half smile, a crimson crescent moon of disenchantment. You died before I met you and and I am bringing you back to life. I will not let your flame distinguish. The shadow you cast on my false promise is like spiritual litigation. Let our ghosts hash it out in the afterlife while we enjoy this last glimpse of serenity. Much like your name, etched in my flesh, I need not this physical form. I have rejected far greater things than life, but death I will not yet answer. Words do nothing when all I can do is fall into your arms.


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