Come Death, Sweet Death

By Jessica Lake

Come Death— Sweet Death—

Hasten down your chariot.

My errant love, I must confess:

Long have I pined for your caress.

My flesh is soft, my figure full—

Come and take me, Cupid’s fool.

In my mind’s eye oft have I seen

Your gaunt form in love’s dark dream.

You are jet from crown to toe,

An Angel, bred of silence and snow—

But it’s no boast when I dare say

I could still your silence and fire your clay.

This I swear—for I am no liar:

Let me be the kindling of your incubus fire,

And you the spark of succubus desire—

We’ll set the grave alight with lust entire.

And for all this I ask a single boon:

Take me now, though it be too soon.

Why wait until my beauty’s fled?

What pleasures can I offer when nearly dead?

Best to take me while youth’s sweet song

Still flows from these lips—full and strong.

Lips that hunger—lips that seek

To bring you pleasures, and not to speak.

My nipples grow tender for your teeth,

And between my thighs, my ardor weeps.

Dearest love, join me in the grave—

And bestow on me the death I crave.

Tarry not, my love—come, let’s wed:

An earthen grave for our wedding bed.

With you above and I below,

You will grow warm, whilst I grow cold.

Then every thrust that I invite

Will swell and stir desire’s delight—

Until your labors bring release,

And in your climax, I find peace.

When I was a little girl,

I was struck by trauma.

It did not kill me—

Only cripple me.

No longer that girl—

I am now a woman.

Oft I look back on those mad days,

And I think—I should have died then.