Stately perched beneath my skin
black the feathers and you the bird
returned countless time and again
my bleeding arms take you within
then wings spread to fly without word

Open flesh spills my passion
leaves me on your ebon sheen
and now I have naught to pass on
to you I leave my crimson fashion
and nothing left of me to glean

Take thy beak from out my heart
which you pecketh on the floor
trust this I say and from this start
your feign and use I take no part
and within I take you, nevermore

At first, I thought "pecketh" sounded cool, but now... sheesh.

Readers seems to forgive me easily enough, so I guess it's not as bad as I think.
One reader said, "Anyone who can use "pecketh" formidably is, in my book, a great poet! :)"