My Lady of Sorrows glides down the aisle
to the sinister, final sound of heels on marble.
Her eyes fixate my chin as I face the heavens
lurking beyond the cathedral that stretches out one, pointed finger
to pierce God's palace.
My Lady of Sorrows wears a crimson smile
as she weeps for a life immortal.
She dances with me to the choir's requiem.
I feel it is time to die; I linger
(alas).
On the altar of the Devil, my Lady of Sorrows
pledges to love me. I pledge to accept.
For all our days and all our tomorrows,
I am bound. I am kept.
When my Lady kisses me, she does it softly.
When she cuts me open, she does it religiously.
