Where beauty plays with its ashes,
And sees romance in every word.
Spoken by delicate and worthless eyes,
Being the eyes of mine,
I see, above me,
Two swipes of scarlet brimming with a word.
And, as that word falls onto my face,
I begin to notice how it writhes,
Soon when it touches my beaming forehead,
Alike a drop of rain, from some distant Heaven
I knew, or simply believed
Had never existed.
Pleasure has a kind way
Of showing its intent in malice.
She is a woman without any contempt,
Not in what is written over my mind.
For her very bleak appearance,
I keep a burning hatred close.
One word, dropped from two swipes of scarlet,
That word, being “want”,
Released from a font,
Whereupon water was once holy.
Hatred, is but a denial to her,
Like the Heaven between her legs.
My emotion springs as a rarity,
For which I should be thankful.
She’ll now place her hand upon my eyes,
And offer me one hideous kiss,
From two swipes of scarlet,
As though the painter was not looking.