Lovers’ Quarrel (Original Narrative Poetry)

Lift her high into the air,
She says a quick little prayer, 
As I feel her soft sweet thigh.
Her moans are a lullaby. 
We wrestle amongst the stones.
A single vessel of bones.

Years go by and she’s not here.
Her body was filled with fear.
She told me she could not stay.
I was now the one to pray.
How could her love be so cold?
It crept up on me like mould.

I visit the place we like.
Overlooking nature’s dike.
Where I buried my last love.
You were hard to dispose of.
Pretending we were married.
Now my love is too varied.

It was a cold autumn night.
When I felt a dreadful fright.
I tossed my shovel aside.
“The grave is empty”, I cried.
I felt her hands on my throat.
I was dead and she could gloat.