Poetic justice

Penchant
Of you
In a curdled wail of the soul
Like a symphony of a thousand trumpets
Severing my tendons
With a rusty blade
With gentle hands
As it tugs me closer to a kiss
A kiss of ruse
To hide your concealed knife
And as you lovingly push it deeper
Your words
Sweet as hemlock
Yet I stare
Knowing imminent end
But as an infant
Reach to your fingers
As you hold me close
Hearing my bleed
I touch the blade
It is as beautiful as you
Now warmed by my life essence
Momentarily
Moments pass
And I do too
In a paradoxical paranoia
Of wanting death as you hold me
Yet slain by the very
Poetic justice