Washed out,
Blue upon the naked horizon.
Walking with velvet in arms,
While kissing mere glints of orange.
A bright, warm touch
From something past in former daylight,
Walking beneath towers
Flying your banner,
Holding hands with your ghost
Being blue in its careening breath.
Holding tight
The world most left behind,
Left beneath tracks
From stampeding feet.
Your blue, somber boldness
With a killing warmth to the memories,
Cremated beneath leaves
From a cold Autumn.
We did love,
Leaking our hearts
As its trail for the other,
Sewing robes
To be our curtains over flesh.
I am in love
With the vapor to a ghost
Entering these lungs
That never kept loose
A single word.
Modern Romanticism 
A wow! Do you write about your experiences, others’, a combination?
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Both, actually. Although, I find that should I delve too deep into subjects that are more personal, I don’t write well. I see that as me attempting to limit the things most important.
I believe Stephen King said something similar, though I don’t recall the quote. 🙂
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