It was
While we loved to gather rain
To the drunken petals,
That our darkness
Was the faces we kept avoiding.
Our kisses meant the tears,
Our eyes meant the years,
While love
Kept feeding us the rope.
We were
Always on the brink of disaster,
Holding skin as were the blue skies,
Weeping to replace missing droplets
In the ocean,
Eaten by the shore.
I became
The demon you could not face,
The human you could not disgrace,
While wet filth concealed
These brittle fingers
That pulled back to reveal
Just a mask beneath a mask.
The same pain,
The forgotten lane
Where we outlined our bodies,
Murdered for the fields,
Bled for the weeds.
Still dreaming
For the sun,
Still sinking
With the moon.
Modern Romanticism 
Mesmerizing beauty. The girl isn’t bad, either.
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Thanks, Monika! 🙂
And, yes. She is attractive, indeed. It’s Dorothy Lamour, from Old Hollywood.
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