Murder

Red wine has trickled away down thirst-bitten throats
while curling,
blackening,
corners sparkle in the fire; the rejected passions of a lover's notes,

The mirror-skin of water turns to ice, melting at the edges
as a pale,
dying,
sun peaks above manicured, over-worked hedges,

Blue-chested peacocks cry out in fox-induced panic,
before twisted,
blackened,
roots crumble under the forgotten touch, so satanic,

Empty veins signalled by a blood-soaked dress,
glistening,
crimson,
the relief of a heart, a soul, held in love's duress,

The empty wine bottle stands lonely, green and still,
surrounded by
glittering,
cut crystal, more beautiful in death than when full,

Post-fury silence falls as an unwoven tapestry, while
eyes shine,
glowing,
hardening in the afterlife beneath a new galaxy,

Long, white fingers of Death caress the murdered soul,
its pearl surface
cracking,
Yet the kindness of Death holds its torment,
Holding firm to keep it whole.