The breeze between each lash,
Above thy gentle eyes,
Moves to and fro, above those glistening tears.
Oh, how beautiful it all reveals itself,
Alike the vulnerability above your chin,
Where waters dribble from your nose.
The love we’ve expected to see,
And survive within,
Has collapsed entirely,
Upon our decaying forms.
We are like two crosses without the Saints,
Alike two spaces of only the emptiness.
Alike the faces defaced from a Buddha,
Alike the children of motherly abandon.
We cannot console the bereaved,
When we are one.
We cannot rent apart our fears,
When we have swallowed them.
We are but two droplets of bitterness,
Upon toxic roses, as November dew.
I feel the fire upon you,
You, with your mournful attitude.