Slave of Taste (black poetry)


Her body, a broken shell
Empty like a promise
Of escaping hell

Her hair, covering her eyes
Curtains for the play's finale
No more lines, she is dead pale

Her skin, a shortcut to sin
I'd enjoy deeply to heath
She is cold, even in hell, above or beneath

Her neck recks me even now
A soft luxurious way, a path to my tongue
That now to maggots belong

I love her in life and in death
I shall admire the work of time
The kill, the rhyme, the theft

I'm only one slave of taste,
A lover, an hedonist, a beginner
I shall taste my beloved for dinner!

- CrownedCrow