Cold As Hell Poem, by Tristan Robert Lange, at My poetic side

I’ve known you, intimately.

Every facet of your being,

Every pulsating promise resting

Within your blood-let bossom.

Broken, but still I’ve known you—

Never once did I ever own you—

I can only own my luminous love.

I have never been filled with hate,

And maybe it is that which grates

Across the board like broken nails,

Aging the myrrh in your wine.

Sip it up, the bitterness sublime;

Necrosis best goes down cold as hell.

Tittu