As it is me,
With the most unstable of hearts.
I breathed love like the freshest dew
Upon the highest of mountain ranges.
Is a glistening sight,
To remind me
Of my shame and plight.
I wished to kiss
Each subtle texture of a shimmer,
To your treasured lips.
What am I,
With these searing terrors
That will not vanish,
Nor be stamped
By time’s imprint,
Into the Earth, and made to be dust?
Has holes, in it,
Like gunshot Swiss cheese,
Like the maggot-riddled corpse,
It has become the most unstable of things
Upon your absence.