She was walking towards the river with her feet bare and her white silk disassembled; they said she was a loathed cathedral of despair as a ruined, beloved garden,  she is all that is left.

“Will you hold my hands  or leave me?
Should I wait until we're together?”

she sang her lullaby as she let her body float.  while she holds her sweet eulogies, it’s all what she has, gazing upon the sky, giving in at the temptation.

“please don’t make me wait forever”

the words linger in the water as her breath goes into oblivion.

my love is building a building
around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
(beginning at the singular beginning

of your smile)a skilful uncouth
prison, a precise clumsy
prison(building thatandthis into Thus,
Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

my love is building a magic, a discrete
tower of magic and(as i guess)

when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall

crumble the mouth-flower fleet
He’ll not my tower,
                        laborious, casual

where the surrounded smile
                                hangs

                                          breathless

today I’m gonna make it

getting done with the stuff I left for days or a week, reading a book once again that I excitedly flipped every page, losing a grip on a string of a blue balloon, today I’m gonna spend all of my pennies to my unrequited wish, similarly to a black hole that keeps gnawing my heart; this is what it cost.

Today I’m gonna find out why they are calling us “black swans”. I will make their blood drain, we will dance at them until their eyes glow green. Today I’m gonna make it, but not the girl who cried wolf at night.

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

This is a warfare;
                               we keep  it in photograph,
                               we keep it in pages,
                               we keep it a secret.

                              I thought I was a keeper

and then everything is heavenly
                                  You are beautiful at daytime,
                                  and shining bright at night.
                                  "You are ethereal"
                                                       ­          the distance is an animosity
                                                       ­          though, we keep on
                                                                ­ reaching  
                                                    ­             It is not about the
                                                             proximity
                                                                ­Yearning; we were still
                                                                ­looking at the same sky.

I thought I could keep you (as I keep everything about you)

you wouldn't  be able to held the sky as it was meant to be ethereal

I grew up as the bed grew bigger than me, underneath there were the roots of a dream that I used to forget; I lost in the card game and you still have a lot of tricks under your sleeve.

And I will yearn if I was still the one in your anticipation; you wear it like a Sunday best and wear it out when you don't feel like yourself.

And I'll follow the traces of your footsteps crawling as vines. What all my words worth if they are a noose entangling my limbs? honey, the roses scented faintly of blood, too.

And I will carry the weight of this spineless home.

Winter,
the decaying of life

Light;
sheer and lustrous

that's how your eyes glisten on the first fall  of snow

Cold is the night as it nestled on the nook of my neck; a familiarity
though, a sun-warmed skin mended the aching cold.

You were all what is left; a hope I keep when I wonder if there is a place for us among the ruins.

Hope;
an anticipation.

You:
the gift of winter.