My beloved, have you ever seen the rays of the sun, and how each had lashed your pallid cheeks? I felt rain upon the day of our commitment. Had you felt the maneuvers in those rays? Upon the day when rings lay frozen on our fingers, you seemed content.
Golden radiance melted an ecstasy on your rosy flesh, and you were made beautiful. You were made to cling to precious things, solid enough for form. And in my way, I sought for newness to behold.
Death had overcome my withered face, and oh, your beauty; it was the current of white that drew a streak of life on my heart. I fall down into sheets made in the irises and pupils that are your eyes. Eyes once felt for their doom, and now, made into tulips. Into forestry, and into vast meadows, I make mellow sounds with my tongue. I speak to birds, and I see you. I speak to God, and I see my own wish.
To be upon the day where an idol forms, made for soaking beneath dread and dead. Your beauty and your hollow earth, both love and death conjoined, and I pay no compliment to your purpose.
Oh, love! Wherever had the song fled?
Wherever had the music turned, when sheets with notes were pulled by the wind?
I was the muse to a frigid soul, and the call to death’s mournful toll.