Beneath the moon’s unblinking stare,

I found you—pale, exquisite despair.

Your lips were cold, your pulse was shy,

Yet whispered promises would not die.

We danced where gravestones kiss the dew,

The worms beneath still envied you.

Your breath, a ghost that brushed my skin,

Invited madness deep within.

I’d carve our vows in marrow bone,

And crown your corpse my heart’s own throne.

For love like ours won’t rot nor fade,

It blooms in blood and shadows made.

So lay with me where silence hums,

Where death beats slow like funeral drums.

Our hearts, two tombs—one soul, one doom,

Forever bound in darkness’ womb.

Even hell shall hold its breath,

To watch us waltz through life and death.

For what is love, if not decay—

Two souls that rot the same old way?