Finding where sadness cuts off,
Discovering where I can be
Atop her most delicate of vision
Bleeds to me,
The empires than can be.
Like little crowds that never walk
On, without being off
To the lights that should be
The shadows that are cast behind,
While movement leaks through curtains
That never did mind
Covering the visions of others.
By the marks upon my lips,
Where kisses were laid driven
For the pout, the safety of a hundred hands
That run to me, that move to demand
The freedom for which
I allowed her to be scorned.
I am alone inside this ceiling
Where a portrait is hung,
Baring a face, to the tapestry upon a wall
Painted to the color of red,
To the fortress that extends so tall.
Her bones, her weary eyes
With vision that allowed me to break
The things that could never make
Me breathe, the ecstasy.