I fall between two stems,
Where petals grow upon the inside,
And feel warmth that burns through
The emptiness I’ve long gathered.
Petals, I’ve gathered,
And thorns I’ve grown.
Some tune of a Devil’s defeat,
Upon a man’s last word.
I blew the kiss that would hit the flame,
And she mocked its nestling on her cheek.
Death fans her screams,
As lust drains her color.
She is much worse, the icon,
The prize won over a feeble plenty.
Beauty runs a disease over my form,
I feel the waters call my life
To come down,
And to be with a woman I see.
I believe there is sadness
Elsewhere, to be admired.
But, I am only a sad man,
Who has turned destiny into flavor.
Fan my wings,
For they have deadened their movement,
Make me twitch, on this ground,
As I am old, and once more, faltering.
There are many places to roam,
Many isles to explore,
To her, and to the beaming sun,
I aim to find a hope.
One sadness and a rope,
Has called beauty to be won.