Now, of all the great lies the Devil ever spread, love
his prettiest bride
A grace and a beauty, spectacular to behold, a bouquet of blooming iris

Breathless in the bathing light of broken dawn
This morning, this moment, lost in the silence of a billion stars burning out
Promises and eternity, exhausted

He, the Devil, exudes confidence even as he cowers under the sheets
Drunk, infinitesimal despite his cosmic postures
He had loved once, so deeply, so devout; he had known love

His day once deviated from the norm of dangers and casual dalliances
The descriptions of darling girls, with their petty, parting kisses
Poetry of the departed

The pretext of this poem, the fall of man’s only true advocate
The adversary and the alien, the angel of light, alighted on crumbling altars
Alone, alive, but dying

In the Devil’s love, a lesson
Never trust the Lord’s vow of love’s labour’s lost, a farce
For on every level, the Lord is the Devil’s better: Faithless to a fault