I will ascend the mountain and pull you forcibly from your throne,
A throne of purgatory and squalor, you sit on high in pestilence.
I crave your mouth, serpents tongue lashing fervently.
I want to get inside you and make myself at home within your misery.
Spew forth the filth that keeps your heart from mine,
Cut out the parts of you she killed and I will spill into them with amorous skill.
There is a lust and simple hope gnawing at me internally making way for your eyes,
You speak in codes and I have no mind to interpret what you have not said.
A matron of masochism I lie awake waiting for you,
And in the night, I conjure images of unspoken desire.
Flesh upon flesh, your large hands exploring my every hill and valley,
Mouths warm and moist searching.
My voracious lust is consuming me night by night
And my mind is tortured by thoughts of you.
Will you ever know, and if you do, will you rescue me from this hell, a concubine of infernal nights?