Silken Poem by Troy Clark

Satan's touch is soft as silk
her whispering breathe amongst my thoughts
Speaking to me of funeral pyres
and dried roses clutched by dried hands
as bones click-clack against one another
brushed along by my eyes lashes

I blink again, and again, dizzying is this sight
rancid this smell
crippling this empathy I feel towards her will
Yet, no one has ever loved me as much
Nor has sought after my soul with such ferocity