We’ve grieved a number of times,
Enough to starve ourselves of woes and goodbyes,
Enough so that we’ll yearn to stay in arms and sighs,
With faces marred by tears and excessive pleas
Upon that which humanity has come to see,
A love of our own, open and wide.
I am in love with a certain misfortune,
The uncertainty to which strips my manhood
From its place above my brow.
In a mind, I’d call my kind,
Were it not for the fear I always find
To be present upon trembling extremities.
I kiss your lips, unevenly,
With a reflective sheen upon each one.
And I break the place that opened a gap,
So that sighs of those depressive nature,
Are no longer here,
And are most likely dead.
God-given love is what I’ve had,
Upon me and over me,
Grown within me, and around me,
As vines and entrails emit a glow,
Through myself, over myself,
Into myself, and around myself.
I’ll kiss your lips, fervently,
With a place beneath your brow,
Upon those beaming eyes of many years,
Upon those lips,
I’ll nest a new joy into them,
With one solid kiss upon them.