The Blackest of Widows

The Blackest of Widows


Maybe it’s…

Your grinding down greed,
Your controlling me need.

Your love of the green,
Your not see but be seen.

Your blood red lips,
Your reach into my wallet dips.

Your infinite, body blessing tats,
Your praiseworthy my head pats.

Your merciless lust,
Your merciful, forgiving trust.

Your most wicked of webs,
Your dream of all men’s beds.

Your swallow me whole,
Your consume all of me goal.

Your hunger for more,
Your more of what I’m good for.

Your taxing of life,
Your loyalty greater than wife.

Your my head about to burst,
Your I’m dying to quench your thirst.

Your draining, empty balls,
Your deep within your walls.

Your eleven of ten,
Your envy of all men.

Your immunity to no,
Your don’t leave me, please don’t go.

Your making me beg,
Your laugh and lithe leg.

Your suffix XX,
Your serving you equals success.

Your returning after years,
Your tattoos and tears.

Your bleakest, blackest heart,
Your wickedness, my art.

Your soul draining session,
It’s my unquenchable obsession.


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