When mind's own memoirs wither down to bone
then whom shall know my love in distant years?
For lest I carve her ode on graven stone
tho' grey is colder than my love appears.

Tho' many birches bear my hearted etch
and golden rays may stipple love and shrine,
arborists dead to old will send my sketch
to paper sheets, inscribed of love not mine.

On webbing sites my posts shall render true
but then unused accounts shall too erase
or kin may not so trust what's old, to new
my love that lost in time, will too in space.

This timeless form of type, I now shall choose!
Yet if undone, let love in death, recuse.

My love for you is as the water falls
cascading off the higher bedrock peak,
outpouring rugged edged and rigid walls
in endless flowing streams, from love's mystique.

To sparkling summer dew on cradling leaves,
condensed to drops, when you were playing dreams,
then from the slightest brush upon your sleeves
then downpours honey scented, splashing seams.

When pupils soak and darker skies then seep,
in every pearl descent, I'll be within
no burden then alone in moistened weep
when grief has dried, the falls again shall win.

My whirlpools gush! Or trickle morns anew
or crawl from wetted eyes, for only you.

Before the earth reclaims my bodies' ash,
what shall I miss the most of all her lush?
Her eyes that flutter each a darken lash?
That usher rhythmic beats of rapid flush.

With eyes azure that rise as ocean waves
that aquas mine, and in my pupils won
her country dress that only beauty braves
of golden glow that brought my will undone.

Or how her lips embed an inborn blush
for makeup only then would hue impair.
Then of the summer passion made on plush
when whistling lover's breezes kissed her hair.

How hard to die when she still glistens fair
as I will miss her all, that love could bear.

No doubt, her temple shines a jeweled trove
each carat gold would glimpse of lover's wealth,
shall I then try entreat her guarded cove;
and win a love, immured from suitor's stealth?

Her lair is wreathed by tears of bitter moat,
a soften rippling tide conceals my stride
each imprint leaves no cast or sandy float
with only faint demures to serve as guide.

For dense, uncertain fogging clouds her glow
as tho' her light's obscured, so none may find,
or love, in templed grief incensing woe
with none a paddled boat so left behind.

Her water's deep and cold, than to allow
tho' having tried, her lantern's brighter now.

When mine eyes near to close - for truest sleep
then best her gentled hand beside me hold
as I'd take with, her sketch into the deep
to let her fairest portrait, beacon gold.

Then into bodes of seraphs I'd have flown
and bid the high archangel grant me this;
that in his flock have one alike my own,
as only then has one bestowed true bliss.

Before the gilded counsel, I will gift
her glow that carried from the nether sphere
and blaze a shrine that'd bring an answer swift!
To match this beauty's flair, there are none here.

Then blast me into limbo! There I'd wait
for her eternal grace to be my fate.

When will decay defeat her beauty's flair?
For many - an eclipse has turned the night
and left no token seam for her to bear,
unless our maiden moon has stilled my sight.

Her grace within may blind my wrinkled browse
and render form and smile to greater wealth
and trance me in a state where she allows;
each breath of love - within it's truest self.

Tho' morning's glow appears a solar truth;
that from the amber beams her skin renews.
Ah no, I'm in the haze of lover's youth!
For I've become a temple to my muse.

Then I shall live her grandest, bright allure!
And ever young she'll be, mine eyes assure.

If my tomorrows were in summer's reach
I'd sail this day, on waves of bitter wine,
towards a newer dawn, on bluer beach
for ocean sprays, sting none to lover's brine.

The amber heated sky should melt her cold
that frozen 'neath my eyes her parting words;
another's light has won her love's remold,
let then each phrase be fed to hungry birds.

The Gulls can stomach salt I cannot bear
for they're accustomed tasters in disdain,
and pine for greater feasts, for I not dare,
but castle sands, and hide my love's domain.

Tho' if no love, there'll be no summer's day!
For all will be as bleak, as is, today.