You: flay fault from flimsy bone
sinking deep into sinner's skin
to sanctify forever sentiment solely
intended as transient shallow flattery.
To you, every morsel of mystery
matters,
each mouthful of mundane
easily mistaken for miraculous.
De profundus. Deep and pointless,
pouring pints to dearly pay
for pretenders' portentous diction.
A draft of folie a deux,
a diaphanous drop of
follow me downward,
drawled by the fascinated darkling,
so dear, so darling draped in
death's paraphernalia.
Honestly, I'd eat you
(or dead) alive like air.
©sweepingly
S