Soft hands. Long legs. The lovely neck
A chain made of iron
Diseased with rust
Oh, the soothing scent of rot
Embracing, never letting go
Wrapped, maybe forever, in a passionate hold
obsession for chokes.
Soft hands. Long legs. The lovely neck.
The ears can hear, the mouth can speak
the tongue tastes, the skin feels
eyes blank with wear but sees
a panorama shifting day and night yet unchanged for thousands of years
preserved in static, a study in stationary motion.
Death would be a beautiful thing
if hope, born from immortality, ruins it not.
Vivien Marie Lopez