Before me, you sit with a sorry stare at a rim
To a glass made of the fibers of sand,
Love is a breath in the air for our breath,
As sweet as the redness in your hair
And as bitter as the very sight of death,
As the very sight of what sticks out in your mind.
A face with eyes engraved,
And hair that blossoms like thorns to roses.
Of those eyes that are either emerald or sapphire,
Alike the Earth or the sky,
Though, I am unable to tell.
Beauty fell upon me like those tides above,
And I was on the cross,
Dying for my own sins.
Your marble face and hair of fire,
Gleaming with random tresses,
Upon your breast,
Folding upon your shoulders.
Love has made us famous,
While our hearts make furious rhythms,
In the dead of this night.
We sit here, to stare at the curves of a glass,
Love is revealed at our left hand,
As hope is in our right.
We’ll deny ourselves as long as we can,
Or death will cast its own ring from shadows,
To place itself upon your fine, marble hand.
Face me, beautiful one,
You are as lovely as the awoken morn,
With hair as red as the liquid that stains your heart,
Upon each repeated sip,
As red as the rays cast away from the sun,
To the meadows of Heaven.