The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies

where night is black opals
before the storm.

out of the flames,
pheonix bright,
our love,
reawoken,
tender and ageless,
*****-faced like
a jaguar of the night,
purple, blue and yellow
the bloodless fire,
and somewhere in
the hurt and the pain
the ghosts like an
old sinatra song
sing their melodies
in the sad summer hours.
i don't think i'll
ever feel so bruised
or so dark, our love
out of those blue-ghost
flames.

Hmm, How do I put this?
I mean can you really say it nicely?
I just don't want to offend you, really.
I wish there was another way to say it.
How do you even broach the topic?
Do you just start talking about it?
Maybe I shouldn't say anything at all.
That's probably proper.
But I really feel as though I should say something.
I really ought not.
There has to be someway of saying it.
It's really not a nice thing to talk about...
On second thought I think I'll wait.
Yes, waiting is what we will do.
Until the time is right.
Yeah, when the time is right.
That's when I should say something.