Never Flee, my Love

Never flee, my love. Forsake not a loving soul; for I vow mystic
Darkness, adrift the stars. Such poison, a puppet’s glory!—for
Scripted upon lightening is utter failure. Lest flames merge,
Ours is the lot of fools. Lest pain blossom, ours is the furnace of
Passion. Be not a prayer of lies, laced with taint. But harness
Love, unto soul-felt panic. For the sky is velvet, unto purple
Clouds. And heaven is florid with the pulse of hearts. But ours is
A cauldron of flames, a beastly nightmare.

Never flee, my love. Yet awaken the subtle touch. Such saintly
Eyes, fraught with anguish. A festoon of worries adorn the soul.
Spirit has taken a rasp to spirit. A banshee wails within the psyche.
But ours is cultic. Thus we cherish the relic of love. And we dare
The taste of lust. Wherefore afire our loins, burn in sheer sorrow.
And fate, a matter of despair.