Disclaimer: Nope.
Author's Note: I wanted to write something, but couldn't get my current ideas onto paper, so I went and looked through some old plot bunnies. And I found this. But I couldn't get prose to agree with me, so I decided to make it into a fail!poem. Did I mention I have a headache?
Warnings: Let's pretend for a minute that season II doesn't exist, shall we?
XXX
Goodbye
X
"Well then, young master…"
X
He had thought
That hand
And the death that it wrought
Would be swift
And cold
And violent
His nightmare:
Of hell
And the devil's dark lair
Long replaced
By want
Of silence
The order
The bow
Rough stone on his shoulder
The flurry
Of cloth
By his feet
Then a kiss
A breath
Like a warm morning mist
That veils and
Ensnares
And entreats
Long fingers
A touch
That grips and that lingers
That holds him
And won't
Let him leave
Eyes flutter
Confused
When his demon mutters
But doesn't
—not once—
move to feed
With a pull
He says
"This was to be painful"
And glares
When he's
Re-caught
But his death
Butler
Into his ear whispers:
"Who says,
My lord,
That it's not?"
X
He had thought
That hand
And the death that it wrought
Would be swift
And cold
And violent…
XXX