I like to put my ear to the door

beneath the earth, the door

of the catacombs of your soul.

I can't really hear anything but

the steady drip, drop, drip of the

dew drops within your soul,

bring me joy beyond imagination.

A wondrous poison that slowly

circulates, round, round, and round.

Seeping into the roots of my mind,

darkening to black, black, black,

erasing all memory except those

of your existence, your presence,

against my cheek, deadly

warmth is all the remains.