Poison Emeralds

I have known you like the
Witch of Endor.
You come calling when the
wind is whipping on a
dark, sombre night,
finding me a ghost with no
name.

The chance you have of minding
my lover tells all.
You have doused my senses
with poison emeralds,
I am imbibing the dark
passage of time,
when the gods give me high
powers to
turn gemstones into rubble.

From behind the masks of ghouls,
skulls shriek at their last
breath,
dead to the touch,
murmuring incantations.

I keep a steady course,
offering the thought that,
Life can be beautiful
for little Princesses waving
magic wands for candy.

Quickening my steps I herald
the fear of Poe's words,
fiery hell.
On that last of October,
the world will father a
haunting journey, as in
olden times.

I have seen the likes of
desperation, people in closets,
skeletons of golden moments,
saturating the air with deep
smoky violet light,
passing into beastial territory,
as someone asks for
an eclipse of the moon at
midnight.

Suddenly, you are there.
When we touch,
I shiver, clasping your hand
over mine, you murmur in half-sleep
not to worry ,
telling me that black cats
will turn to pretty swans
in the morning.