Your mind sways heavy like the night wind. Death on the doorstep and a thousand voices running chills up your spine. In the time it takes to find your keys, the earth has opened up and swallowed our trashed civilization whole.
We dream of getting out somehow but it seems this is our fate. Trapped like animals easily fooled. Easily lured by fresh kill and feathers. No matter disease. No matter the rotted decay of the leaves.
As the full moon rises and locks into place for the night, you think about the wide eye of eternity stretching out overhead like a black satin curtain. You pull your cloak tight around your chest.
Meet him in between the cemetery and the crumbling church. He tells you to keep quiet and stay still. To listen for the howl of wind through the empty trees, cold as a whisper, breathing on ice.
In your ears, the chanting, the moans of time as time bends into space and evaporates.
He gives you red wine and you drink it down slow.
Good girl.
Bright eyes which shine like silver, face as pale as pristine snow.
He places his finger in your cherry stained mouth and you suck it like your life was worth more than you could ever express for him in words. Spread legs and slick thighs. Poetry as hungry adoration. Poetry as limb from limb. Poetry as gilded age.
There used to be a time for talking but that’s long over now.
He makes a sacrifice of your body, burns a candle and sends you home with the blood. The time for words has ended.
You lower the blinds, turn the page, close the book of ancient lore and place it on a shelf high above the rest.
Slide your hand along the golden edges of the days gone by.
Life as the ghost of the woman you once were and will never be again. Life and the end of life, suspended like clouds in your midst.
Allison Marie Conway 
I just can’t get enough of your work. This is pure, raw, uncut, lust filled emotion and it’s absolutely brilliant. You send a tingle down my spine which gives me the chills when I read your chosen selection of words and the way they flow out of your mind onto the keyboard and create this incredible style of literature. You must NEVER STOP!! Always waiting for your next post so I can gobble up your words. I’m hungry for more. (not in a perverted way, lol)
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Your words make me glow… and smile. I’m so deeply grateful for your indulgence. I don’t think it’s perverted at all I think it is raw and beautiful. How poetry was meant to be experienced … reveled in… 🙏🏻♥️🕊🌹
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I don’t think I could have said so any better than what you just did.
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🌹🙏🏻🌹
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This is exquisite. Deliciously erotic.
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I am so grateful you have found it so. This way of expression feels closest to my soul. Thank you for your kindness. 🌹🙏🏻🌹
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A fascinating soul.
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Hmm… do you suppose there are unfascinating souls? Or only souls not fully expressed? I really am curious…
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I think there are humans/souls who have not evolved. Racists, for example.
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Oh yes, very true. I guess I was thinking about people who are excruciatingly boring. Is it possible even their souls are tedious? I feel like the very idea of a soul, the essence of that ancient wild eternal realm, could only ultimately be prismatic and fascinating if only it were allowed to fully unfold… ah, but who am I to say. 🖤🌹🕊
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You are probably write. A soul must grow, and not everyone will allow it to do so. It must be nurtured.
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That is the exact word, how beautiful of you to say it: nurtured. Like a magnificent garden… wandering and wild yet also tended to just so. 🌹🍃
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Secret gardens
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🙏🏻
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