Eyes of sorrow, sweetest lips.
They bring the truth to the crevices asleep.
Oh, come to embrace them –
the arms of death.
Come in pleasure to the gravest of fates.
This love, born of past and star-gaze, brimmed with life as alive was the ulcer of the sealed gate. I could have spent an eternity from peering into his ancient eyes to crafting ways to keep him warm to fancying about many a way to beclothe him with caresses upon losing myself in the outlines of his vessel.
Melancholy’s inexorable tides washed over the sands of my soul. I drifted and kept on drifting. In sanctified sorrow, I writhed and yearned for that which I could not summon into mind. I brooded over by the dark corners and silent spots, and hid the storm from the common eye until my flaming heart, too, wilted into the covetous mouth of the void.
And you still wonder why I sleep with skeletons.
And he still grieves the sword you sent before the earth closed.