I turn over leaves,
Among the winds of Autumn,
And breathe in the dust upon your chest
After you died.
Then, after you cried,
I knew it was only the rain that fell,
Upon your cracked and weary cheeks,
Made from marble,
And that stone heart is mine,
Among its surface, smoothed by the same wind.
I will kiss stone lips,
And bury my heart next to yours.
A face I’ve come to caress, over the time we’ve known
In the dead of every night.
I turn over pebbles near a lake,
And near a river,
To once more, see your face,
Where there is just another stone,
Among the water that trails from beneath them.
I see what is called a reflection,
A summary of our love.
A painted surface, where I know only my own face,
In this dreadful loneliness.
Winter will soon come,
With many flakes against my own worn cheeks,
And I’ll not find comfort in the solace,
Because, I’ve only petrified what memories I possess,
In the mind, of mine, that is much older
Than any stone upon this crude Earth.