Wilt your eyes To the cherished sorrows. Your bosom is but the porcelain without the snow To create the necessary coldness. I wield naught but two breasts For my infantile suckling. Your eyes show fear, Leaving me near, Letting me steer Your eyes towards the moon. Blessed beauty Of no forever. Let us lay here on our backs To enjoy what time we share As we are bare, to the boldest glimpses of time. Beauty decays only as the eyes wilt, Needed for the circle Of life In coldest strife, Like the gold about your finger. I play With your form, in the dust. I stay With your form, in the rush Of our blood, in its flood. Let your eyes see my passion, See my obsession, My bite, My plight, My sight, My fight. I want to whelm you In my tears, As fears are for your consumption In the dark tomorrows.