A Poem to My Wife

     Not many of you know, but I am in fact married. I rarely wear my ring merely because I forget to, which is the same for her as well. Now as Valentine's Day approaches, I have a poem for the demon that captured my very essence.

The Dark Heart of Women

To the demoness

With charcoal eyes

You are the Countess

To my poet’s cries,

With ebon skin

Smooth as silk and hot as flame

Mere mortals create sin

By merely speaking your name,

Curves and supple hips

With tattooed flesh

And crimson lips

You make my hearts beat fresh,

But all is not good

With your seductive frame

You burn and boil blood

Within my very veins,

My paper-thin skin

And brittle bones yellowed

I feel like Marchand de vin

When my soul you have hollowed,

So in life as in death

It is you that I serve

And when I take my last breath

I know you’ll have given me what I deserve.