Looks more like horror poems than love.
Your skin glows like the fingernail, blossoms long as the frangipani in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your trumpet voice and leaps like a wolf at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great crow wing.
I am comforted by your boots that I carry into the twilight of knifebeams and hold next to my neck.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of blood.
As my head falls from my pants, it reminds me of your gun.
In the quiet, I listen for the last scream of the day.
My heated heart leaps to my gloves. I wait in the moonlight for your secret hammer so that we may kill as one, heart to heart, in search of the magnificient red and mystical television of love.
LOL!