No seething kindness, could ever subtract
My hands from crawling across your naked shoreline,
From dancing upon your fragile neck,
And allowing your breath to force itself forward.
To the wind of my might,
To the Hell of my sight.
Little beauty, you seem to have cracked,
Under the weight of a life gone alack.
I give to you, my best touch,
In all our errors, to what a life we had shared,
And among all the greetings we’ve had, in frozen hearts bared,
I will allow you to experience what made me aware.
Your face, now a stamp of resolve,
For when you cast a glance at your porcelain throat,
You give in,
To the touch, among its coldness.
For your eyes show the terror I had adored,
With the serenity of blue, wandering as two,
Down the extent of your entire form,
Blossoming as the tulips in the height of Spring.
And your face,
And your resolution,
Will make war with each other
Among the quilts and empty fantasies.
For our love was only a reality,
In the Hell where we made a home,
True to be, beneath sun and moon,
As our deepest duality.