Beauty’s empire, or beautiful empire,
Has arrested its attention upon the Earth.
Many treks are walked to see it,
And a one, a woman is there to embrace it.
I have offered it,
As I have extended it.
I was not the one who voided it,
As much as it displeased her.
I have a fit torment,
To walk in her shadows,
Created by melting fingers, like candles,
And to her eyes! Alike the strands that whisper
The sweet profanity to my next world,
That empire, a trophy that is near-nothingness.
Love has a way of calling disaster to itself.
She has a way of managing my failure,
And entertaining a kind word,
A memory that is woeful, from a faraway place.
A love that had taken her, beneath sheets,
Beautiful memory of so many idlers,
A defeat, and then the symptom,
The woman who I have come to love.
She has remembered,
In relation to that golden empire,
Of enormous walls and precious stones,
The first time she conceived.
She waltzed under brick and marble,
She sang music under skies,
And breathed between delicate lips,
Formed as a careless smile.
With your eyes magnificent,
What have I loved, under the guise of a tongue
That speaks words of faded lies?
I am a man without applause,
And the sheer guilt of a winter I’ve developed,
With flakes as the skin, the ashes, and the dust.
The stale creation of that memory.