Pretty mornings and September,
A wind that blows across the land,
Takes with it the dying ember,
The fire, memories, an epoch and,

Leaves in wake some withered flowers,
Tousled hair, a transcendence,
Candy stained lips at early hours,
An aftertaste of ambivalence.

They wouldn't understand
Because they weren't meant to
You make everyone else, everyone else.
I can't give in, love
Or give up
You contaminate me
Beautifully.

She put down her book and
rolled over to his side,
Searching for sincerity
in his dilated eyes.
"Do you believe in dragons?"
A pause. A knowing smile.
"Yes."

Doubt hung for a fleeting moment ,
Then you dragged me under the waterline,
Never to go up for air again,
Your hand never leaving mine.

Why then,
Doesn't it thrill me?

Spare me a little oxygen,
I'd want to see the onset of tomorrow
Through the blurring from my tears
So I can't know for sure,
That proof of your existence
Lies in treacherous memory
And that you're gone.

The retrograde misanthrope
Takes another blow
While she keeps the show running
In a technicolor blaze
So you can't know for sure,
It's her toxic blood winding down the stage.

It can't be helped
and there's no one to implicate
But her induced kleptomania
Dripping from the slack tips of her fingers
Until she's left standing
In a pool of her own guilt.

I waited while you reached to my aphotic depths,
Felt you caress my heart of hearts with your being,
Even as my breathing came in gasps,
And sweat beads on my collarbone,
My tensed body, quiescent at its core converses of,
My irrevocable, unhinged addiction,
To the way you weave into me,
The fiber of life in intricate patterns,
Beautiful, like you.
It hurts.. ecstatically,
Like my soul in cimmerian delirium,
Trance-like;
When you take my Eldunari,
With you,
When you leave.