When love is a shimmering curtain
before a door of chance
leading to a world in question
wherein the macabrees dance
of bones that rattle in silence
of blinded eyes and cold
of thick lips, thin, denying
a thousand hands that pull
where touch to touch is feel
and life a weary whore
you would be carried off, not gently
to a wild but empty shore
where love is the scream of anguish
and no curtain drapes the door
Maryah DeLong
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-diverse-deviations/
