He exists in the catacombs
of my immortality,
buried beneath the breast
of fate’s consecrated vein
His claret potions course
thru passages of hollow flesh
relieving my body
of frigid passions and desires
He infects my being with
a languishing presence
whispering breaths of light
into crevices of longings
and desperations that without him
would have succumbed to a
diseased core of cancerous misery
He manifests life…an innate
element essential for me to subsist
beyond pulses, palpitations,
and respirations
He is my yen…existing in
the catacombs of my immortality,
buried beneath the breast
of fate’s consecrated vein
waiting to be exhumed by destiny’s
promise to return his spirit
to me so that my soul
might live again.