Feverish marks, from where love had struck a solid chord
Upon thy evergreen heart,
Upon thy smoothened heart,
Upon thy fabulous heart,
Were as beauteous, as the next whore of a line,
Of a waiting
And then, to flee
Away from my fingers, that brought you to cease
Yourself, from how you breathed.
Upon the skin of velvet smoothness.
Upon the hues, radiant in the sun,
And full in the moon.
Where has love ever taken us, in this foolish charade?
I cannot be the one to cry for mercy
When you are the one who sees the end to come,
At our feet,
With all to deceit,
And nothing else to greet.
What has decay to do with us?
What has the moment do with love?
What has the world to do with kindness
When we are not of it?
We have escaped
To show up
At a door.
We have lifted away
Oldness from newness,
To see the love, that would reign over us.
Creation, and infinity
Is there to adore us,
And yet, we are here to abhor us.