Entwined hearts in a tomb of
ten-thousand dahlias,
heavy breaths like each their last
reach longingly aloft.

Unlike every choking vine
that digs entombing claws;
their winters spent together
tethers their hearts to clouds.

A spring breeze rolls with fog through the forests
singing through a night that seems endless.
Dead flowers, unbeknownst where wind sends us
can't help but falter beneath blown torrents.

You were beautiful, sculpted like marble,
then given an eternity in spring.
How nice to not know what frost will bring,
freezing petals, a dying ensemble.

You couldn't help but to only murmur
despite how badly you wanted to scream,
eyes glossing over, they no longer beamed.
Your hand, like your heart, losing it's fervor.

A thousand flowers will consume your grave
and you'll die, never finding what you crave.

Great stretches of wisteria's shadow
reach longingly through an endless field,
towards a slow dripping skyline that seemed
so much closer than it would ever know.

The sun's now passed. What could you hope to find?
I'm helpless but to bask in flowering
petals, falling like brush strokes blossoming,
painting the wind that'll leave us behind.

I've only wanted to be here with you
but like winter will do to your branches,
shades of grey ennui weigh on my canvas.
Like spring and the wind, I will leave you too.

Of all shades you are, all palettes you bear,
this sad overcast is the last we share.

Amid woods frozen in woe
the weakened elk's velvet
drapes sanguine to stain the snow,
no solace in this shade.

As ripples brush upon the rocky reef
your eyes swallowing the light of each star,
cascading lines of deep ebony mar,
subversive painters showcasing your grief.

Wings never clipped, but promises unkept
tore your heart from you, hung out not to dry
but sadly to, instead, be crucified.
Cornered at last, in helplessness, content.

You were never abandoned by heaven;
all the sadder that they just didn't care
like a storm rolling upon a fledgling.
An apology too much concession
I felt no satisfaction nor despair,
indigo tides at your neck now welling.

The sun feels colder as it shines
through this aging stained glass,
decorated in such inspired design
of stories and heroes now-surpassed.

Such a glimmering lens standing vast
consumed my eyes while the smoke
swirled up and rose to climb past,
to choke the sun out from that window.

Two ravens, with my heart, sink low
to perch upon weather-worn pillar;
the winds carried them, as I overflow.
Drowning in my my own burgeoning river.

It's only myself, to myself, I've reviled,
draining out my heart, I wore the saddest smile.

Your eyes like falling stars, cascade
down, chasing Summer's drifting flowers,
their crescendo, with the breeze will fade
upon a wind-swept dance in this final hour.

And I saw myself in their somber drift.
Surrounded by the blooming scorpion grass,
I sank into the deep sea beyond the cliff
as each wave hammered a nail in my casket.

The briefest of drownings broken by a song
as a nightjar cooed from the dying laurel
in a perfect nest where his melody belong.
While my heart lapsed: yours felt immortal.

It's halt dismissed at the winding of vines
as your fingers are mine lastly intertwined.