When upon the time in a distant romance,
When love once guarded her form,
When a frame had guarded a painting,
When my arms had guarded truth,
I knew for once in my life,
That my home is not this home;
It is the space in her heart,
And upon a face, where quivers an aching smile,
I would die to know her, again,
And make beauty remember me for the while.
Death has shaped her space,
A black heart has now formed tendrils,
Corruption has made its presence,
Am I still in love, or have I made death?
When modesty once placed itself about her,
As the love I made to guard her,
It was always a remembrance,
It was always a field of achievement,
It held a texture alike to those cheeks,
The ones I kissed adoringly.
My beauty, make we weep,
Beneath the moon of the evening melting
Of its silver coloring, in where I repeat,
“Make we weep! Beloved, make me weep.”
I breathe dust now over your shoulders,
And find merriment only among petals,
Where your tresses caught the air.
Flesh now guards my skeleton, and I’ve grown old,
Like the robes loose about the monk,
Like the hair loose about a woman,
Like the tears loose about the eyes,
Like the serpent coiling about the lie.
Love, with a breast I cup in one hand,
And your face in the other,
Would you rise if I kissed the mouth,
That said we weren’t worth the long road?