The dark forever

At night I roam
with shades of frisky devilry
warping the misted reeds
and tending to the desolate

The gardens are eternally fragrant
for life is always spilledhere
down some lone curvature
of shadow, and there the butcher 
with taut blood
drops
blissfully slithering down
upon the rose that still prostrates her music
to the moon whose indifference 
fills the feeble with dread.

Death to all that lurks is an expression
of that hushed denial
for steel merely withers
once disposed of its utility

and yet the shrill pulse
of that ancient dark
forever marries her libidos 
in the delicacies of my most salacious
exile.