In all my imagining,
While haunting memory is the music
To my mind in its longing,
I find myself to view a painting
That shows the curves of a naked woman,
While her lips are reddened
By the blood offered in my hands.
Would I reach to kiss?
I desire the wine, next,
For a mask is only a shape
To what has gaped my wounded spirit,
As I rely on awakening to push myself,
From the cruelest sleep.
Winter drenches me in her family
Of white bone and frailest tone,
As I have found your seat to be empty.
Pull me closer,
To what makes you shiver.
I promise, by what little strength
I still possess, to make you comforted.
I am in love with a promise,
As I adore the curves to a woman,
As I dream of kissing sweetest kisses,
Upon sweetest lips.
Sing to me,
Your song of wailing pain.
Reveal your sorrow,
As I reveal mine in this dim light,
Of a remaining winter.
I fail, when I have been brought down,
To be beside you, in a grave of soil,
As all angels, we’ll soar, nevertheless.