Beauty recedes with the push of time
Against its frail and vulnerable form.
Alike when you called the breath of my sigh, to rub itself
Against your worn cheeks,
Against where teardrops leak
Themselves, downwards to your polished, ruby lips.
We are both frail, with few things to remember,
So why do you desire to see all else, corroded by blackness?
A face I have seen, now and then, with the most miserable expression,
Brought upon me what is no more than stinging pain.
Leaves have formed a crown atop your head,
That leaves the feeling in the wind, to stop ahead.
I tremble as the winter does to these barren twigs,
And the few leaves that linger on their edges.
Sickness is to you, what the past is to me,
As I see what could come, from a future, embedded in vows.
Little faults begin to remind you, of how vulnerable we are
Among the scenery and the death of who we are.
Lost upon roads, with wind that seems to kiss our hearts to sadness,
We have forever been, and always we will be, lost to gladness.