A night without the embrace from thee,
Is a night I’ll never be desperate to see,
Upon the time when you return from across the waves,
To see the defiled me,
And know that the sun has run from me.
The sun, as you, my created light,
A single candle that stands with tapered form,
And a wrist that is scarred from pretend suicide,
Because, where could our love be, besides drowned in blood?
Your wish, my command, and our love, this demand.
“Desperation is a weapon,”
As once was written,
And what sword is drawn?
What trigger is pulled,
Upon when love begins to seduce Hell,
Into a Heaven of sleep?
We motion in our kisses, staining ourselves red with the entrancement,
And dance, beside ourselves, in lowest moons, and highest suns,
We bleed aromas upon the other, with denial to any moment in time
Being the end to our amorous stares, and lonesome caresses.
I am a man without any might,
You are a woman without the night,
I am a man with a mark upon his mouth,
When you were a woman who did bite.
When were we people who did fight?
When were we those who were drowned in spite?
Work, cherished work, to make it right,
Denial of time, in blinding light,
When our desires could only tell the other, for the sight.
The other, for the love,
The peacefulness, as the dove,
Beauty reigns when chosen well,
Love reigns when raised from Hell.