Lay with me, as the world
Go beyond with me, to the lines that seem themselves
To surrender, and surrender more
To the tragedies and comedies of love.
We are, in arms, crying and laughing, beautiful as one,
In our eyes, we hold sweet nectar,
Bitterness to the wetness
That smear across cheeks made of powder, porcelain, and ice.
We are only beautiful, when we are raised.
So, we rise,
And surmise, nothing,
We falsify nothing
To the sound of fluttering heartbeats,
And the light tap, of kisses.
Only ever does truth come forth,
From hearts so deep and transparent
In the infinite youth of summertime,
Bodies that are milk-white or dowsed in ebony.
Oh, love! Has it made its way,
To the places so full of dismay?
My love and myself, so strong in our song.
In the permanence,
Of what swells,
In hearts so cold,
And so old,
A warmth, a comfort,
For faces to feel its searing touch,
From fingers that have been dipped
Into the blood of the birth
Love is a triumph,
In all times of discomfort.
As it faces,
The facades to pull them off,
And reveal an image of tears.