Don't look at him that way Rochelle. 

You want him gone Rochelle. 

Your skin is onyx. 

Your umbra. 

True to the black. 

Your black heart. 

Winter spell. 

You covet him. 

But you covet his last breath. 

In a kiss of death. 

Yet mixed with her antipathy is a yen. 

You may not have him to covet 

if you kill him. 

Subject him to condition, 

lurking in the black. 

The shadows Rochelle.