Whispering in the Dark

Ominous.
Like the dark romantic lubricious to the thought
and shrouded with the taste of musky desire.
But they always wore black... he always wore black.
One and all - all the same
ever re-occuring. And gone.
Always breaking the vase of femine form indefinately
violating steadfast roots and understanding -
a contradiction>> Objectified.
My, fragile vase, broken more and stepped afoot
closer to fragments of sand
so we can melt to glass.
And be Art forever
Opalescent and ominous, like my secrets.
of you