A crest of messy, restless hair That waving tide upon her brow, Brushed by rushing morning air. The night we spent is over now. Unprepared for her departure, I wondered when her eyes would open, To see the wounds left by the archer, Who finds his mark when love is chosen. Will she choose to leave me here, Without the kiss, whispered promise. Will time and distance interfere To loose her grip upon this fondness. Pray, if this be the poor man’s bower, Let her sleep another hour. Pray, you sky, let loose a shower, So she might stay another hour.
I was listening to The Smiths and daydreaming, staring off wishfully. My mind was empty but for one thought; I was thinking of how the crushing weight of mortality made every hour of my life so valuable. The seeming finality of death made every moment I tightly held, slowly kissed, and firmly embraced your heavenly soul, every spare second my eyes met your own, every soft whisper you sent to my ears, every sigh your breath set on my lips, it made it all worth it. I pace in circles struggling to believe that any afterlife I’m offered could ever be sweeter than the one life I shared with you. If I ever met your soul again, among the ether of the stars, my heart would pound with love and pride, as the cosmos weakly shuddered, and shielded its eyes, and beheld the blinding beauty of your light; It would be nighttime and raining, The Smiths would be playing, and I would be dreaming, until I opened my eyes. Until the song slowly died.
The clever lips That gilded my eyes, The lovely hips; Traced neatly demise. The haunting kiss A beautiful guise I’m left with this And fraudulent sighs. Pity be with Who sees her coming. I’d prefer this O’er never loving. This end is bliss, Though, very tragic. Death by her kiss, So very classic.
Our marriage is not of vows, But fingers of flames, tracing curves. Breathing into each other’s beds, Smoking the smoldering coals, Which once lay dormant, now, Incensed by the passions of fools.
She brands my ears, with steaming gasps. She tears the flesh from off my back. With searing claws, she rings my finger; My eyes reflect her dazzling embers. As smoke chokes the air and sets free, Sparks floating off, into the breeze.
It simmers through the night, As the sun begins to rise. The birds begin to sing, The blaze begins to die, And this pile of dry ash, Is divorced into the sky.
Do you believe, that gods can bleed? Have you seen enough, to conceive of, divine mortality? What would it mean for us? We who must develop love Of vulnerability, Of blood, Of death. All so we may draw our final breath in peace, with our minds, and our dreams, drifting in the cosmic seas of infinite night, and lovely, lonely starlight.