You seek rose where there are only throes
Of winter’s disheartened remorse.
White releases all the dread of a forlorn moment
Where existence compels imperfection.
I kiss, and kiss, again
The breath of an exiting sigh
From two lips, raised high
On a contorted face that leaves us doubtful
Within the greatest of love’s perfection.
Through the dark
You seek winter’s throes.
Of the galloping, prancing horse
With a death at the edge of a cliff.
I kiss your eyes,
Dream with smiles,
Falter against whiles
That leave us romantic in the curves and dust.
You want guilt,
As you wish to hide, to conceal
Yourself, behind the hilt
Of a gleaming sword.
You want the blunt edge of life,
As I desire its sharpness.
Your hair, as strands to reach life’s openness,
A scent to breathe, for the stains of a guillotine,
For my head will not roll farther, in confusion.
A sigh, a candle.
A breath to white out the flame
Of love, in winter’s guilt,
Of coldness, in such oldness
Grace the openness
Of two lives in gravitating waves,
Towards the moon.