Misericordia, heart mercy,
heat death, ardor mordant,
the love that perishes in its own flame,
what is left of a cold universe,
silent in expanse of bed and night.
When the corporeal pulse ceases,
the soul repopulates the stars.
Sic itur ad astra.
I cannot coax love back from pomegranate seeds;
What belongs to death, Hades must have.
And I am his.
Advertisements
