gold breaks

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All shells must break some time, And what we were, in this ostrich kingdom, Was thin and meaningless as picture books And purple skies. Heavenly touches so hollow with withered decay, Like pounded dead rose petals, Some reminiscence of scent, conjured Now injured, fatally whisked away. I loved you like fading seeds of dandelions Carried off in the wind, Almost there, no more. Could it have been you and I, A question posed over and over On many a sad evening when, again, The spring breeze inquires. Yet infinitely, our vague instability was so, How do you say, bleeding with tel tendress, Piquant, and suddenly, c'est seulement l'histoire! You are nothing but an emptiness when I awake, On some drizzling Sunday morn, Mourning a repressed loss. You were so beautiful in my arms And no where else. Now, like before, I no longer recognize this familiar sadness, For briefly, I forgot questioning, and thinking, And worrying; You stripped me of taste, of color Of passion, undying, only simmering. Martyrs hand in hand, I forgive you for killing me If you acquit me of the same. So then, on this separating path, Go where we should of long ago.

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