You, with lips that aimed to kiss,
Were interlocked with something you dearly missed.
The frightening desire to fan the flame you wield,
And yet, for my love, you’d not stoop down that very shield
That blocked my way to your fervent heart.
Little woman of a certain void,
Of a shell,
And, had I lost you on a whim?
Had I lost you in this winter, within?
My love dances upon a heart, my own, that does not even grin.
I failed, where you survived
Upon the ashes of a life you despised.
Misery was but a comfort, to my frozen mind,
With all feathers that were shed from an eagle
From a raven, that soared above this deserted Hell.
For our gentle faces,
The most unbecoming thing
That the world could not take.
Most becoming, however, for what could ever break.
A heart, is all it took, so old and yet
Is the terror upon our weathered lips.