Watchdog of Hell

I invented plagues for you, biting monsters that bore
a grim resemblance to your charred heart, your granite
hair, villains for you to crush, adamant angels while
all along, I should have been running from my demon
instead of straight into his arms. Satan has lips like
bloody stardust, teeth like poison, a mouth like wine.
Bitter dregs he sprung from, fungus fucosal, blackened
windswept grapes on a barren hill his vintage press.
My man is antique leather, old grimoires, Martian sigil.
My man is an onyx cloud I drown in, walking shadows.
Those beings that haunt battlefields, freaks of the night
they all cower at his name, and honey, my dog bites.

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