my lover is arcane for, he only speaks in tongues he breathes cold, cadaverous air to fill my empty lungs Latin chants over freshly turned earth he comes creeping in the night when not another soul is heard beneath a new moon sky and in the howling wind he quietly stalks aching to nourish his … Continue reading La Petite Mort
Tag: gothic
Amaranthine Memories
immortality blooms from your lungs the dark roses become a means for our memories I found myself in a spell of deeply romantic melancholy I love you in death, you have suspended me in a passion that I cannot quite understand, my love bury me in red roses forever
So Nadine Writes 