Generic

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.

The dark forever