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Dedman’s Morbid Mausoleum of Dark Poetry: Lamentations of the Libertine (Original Work, Exclusively Published on Morbidly Beautiful)

The pre­cip­i­tous ecsta­sy of Her sala­cious touch is tan­ta­mount to angel­ic flight, winged and breathy,
A beau­ty so pro­found and abyssal in its essence, the tonal­i­ty of skin bone white in pal­lor so death­ly;

Lips so soft and full, the col­or of crim­son in bloom, moist as ten­der licks from a tongue forked swirl,
A scent of grave­yard flow­ers and sweet rot is Her per­fume, vio­lent­ly intox­i­cat­ing as lust begins to unfurl;

Cur­va­ceous of a fig­ure so God­less is sin­ful and wan­ton, urg­ing me to utter sub­mis­sion and sup­pli­ca­tion,
A suc­cu­lent bosom aches to be fon­dled at all costs, trailed kiss­es from Her neck would be damna­tion;

Hands fall to hips that sway with hyp­not­ic ges­tic­u­la­tion, promised desire unbound for me per­son­al­ly,
Incite­ment to part thighs for­bid­den to Man sparkles in Her eyes, demand­ing to be done so force­ful­ly;

The sounds of cop­u­la­tion are heavy in cham­bers, Her warmth com­fort­ing and chill­ing in the sea­son,
I feel Her com­mand as orgas­tic spasms claim us both, Lilith now for­ev­er owns my soul for its trea­son…

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