your skin taste of juice and moss

of ripe apples and blackberries

you allow the sun to lick your lips

pushing in the tongues of light

your flavor is salt and sweet glamour

a taste of soul which is made of stones

your chest opens letting the darkness in

to kill it with your golden gleam

tear me from my nightmares

hush the moths that flutter in my heart

leaving the dust where blood should be

trembling veins in an open flesh

your tears taste like juice and moss

bitter and sweet; a delight for senses

you blossom between roses and violets

les fleurs du mal; a savior for the twilights I weave

between your pale morns and cruel nights