Poetry

Meticulous footsteps in the dark,
approaching perilously, but rakishly,
forming perfect shapes in the stone cold concrete.
That is all I see, in this debauched agony, my love.
 
Macabre memories of Thee,
and Thy brazen attitude.
It is all I see, my love, my porcelain doll,
anticipating Thy arrival,
and hoping, hoping for more.