The Howling of the Jinn

Of terrible beauty that severed love from the vigilant womb, I stormed through tired years under the glare of a sinister moon, suckling on the Jinn's fruitful breasts to yield my blades that sever and stain without an act of passion that shall not attribute to her name; consorting themes of ominous laps in Corinthiansips of red wine as my mind weighs heavy with fears and the stigma that is time, drunk with subservient haram sprung from the fountain of life, serrated sin born from love chaos and the supernalscythe; I embraced my nocturnal call like two impassive lovers at their death as restriction bleeds from my neck in the monumental trapping of death; dropping the petals of roses in my hate for the wind and leaves I learn from the darkness with the perfume of flesh on the murderous breeze; her languid lips move sweeter than love who fears to greet her in to men that mix and meet the dissonant howling of the Jinn.