Stillness of the musty air entombed… Death vents no last breaths here… My ghostly presence alone is chilling the air around -   So, the Gothic rose grew in the lightless chill of my dark aura… chilling its beating soul.   The cold of my tomb keeps these...

In the beginning… There was darkness… A blink later there was a supernova… An entity commanded, “Let there be light!”   In our beginning… There was distrust… A moment later there were your starry eyes and ebony lips…   You commanded me, “Let your light be tangled...

A scent of decadence does not merely arrive; it haunts, it drifts,a phantom presence unbound by walls: a fragrance cloying,overripe sweetness of her peach, past its prime. Its flesh,collapsing into a syrupy, oblivion, exhaling its vermouth.As the air grows...

His mind became my closet, listening to all the acrimonious BS, at the Pentecostal show, By the laying his hands on my pillow case at 3 am—somehow the scent of bourbon and Cheetos linger. He pulled his pecker too many...