I swear we were love.
We, once immortals of moonlight's
glances. Now... I'm praying
Didn't we shine like bonfires
in autumn ? Wasn't our lust an
ever present wafting jasmine ?
And after each fall from grace
at the hands of a masked Adonis,
we would begin upon a promising
current, back out to an all
I am forlorn of any visit home,
for then the aching in my chest.
It knocks the wind out of my
lungs, ablaze with regretful gasps.
Still, I put a match to the
kindling of remembrance. And
didn't we shine like bonfires ?