I had but once a dozen friends,
All twelve in which I'm sure you knew.
They're silent now - I hear not one;
Part deafened, being drudge to you.

I, too, was dark, and yes, seductive -
My name feared, and sought by few,
But yours, my love, congeals the tongue;
Silenced, for being drudge to you.

I recall a small and chthonic dwelling,
From its' walls I cut a rare, red jewel,
I'd meant to sell it but refused;
Bejeweled now, is a ring, for you.

I kiss your lips - embrace the poison:
The world thrice fell, and I fell, too,
And here I lay, benumbed and quivering,
Delighted, being drudge to you.