My lover's dead
and I like him better that way.
When he was by my side,
I did not know what to say
as my heart was always
in a horrid, constant state
of incomprehensible joy,
my emotions so great,
they overtook my mind,
and all I could do
was let myself be loved
and sigh graciously in lieu.

My lover's dead,
but he still haunts my mind.
He hides silently, waiting
in every place I can find,
pulling me to him
with invisible strings
so he can entrap me in the felicity
that young love brings.
But I am tired, so tired,
of being in love,
of the pain that overtakes me
when I am floating above
in blessed happiness,
with him as my wings
waiting to fall,
because love is a capricious thing.

The yellow bird in its golden cage sings
to me, in the depths of the night, while I
raise my palm to my lips and kiss
it, pretending I were loved;
though my sorry heart knows I am
not, and the flightless canary does too--
its singing metamorphs into wailing as
the amber stars sink in the sky.
The darkness nibbles
on their ivory light, and my warmth
subsides to ice.

beautiful boy
with your magical hands
you leave trails of gold
on the surfaces you skim
let me be
so blessed to be
caressed by your enchanted fingers.

I've felt worse
than the misery you lay
with your hands.
so come to me,
dark angel,
envelop me
in tenderness.
go, catch
my skin on fire
I swear I've felt worse.

If the sun were to somehow collide
magnificently
with the Earth,
as if propelled by some
unseen, unstoppable force
of formidable gravity, I wouldn't
care.
I would burn, along
with everyone else,
my ashes mixing
and diffusing with theirs.
I would feel
heat,
become
heat.
The warmth would swallow
me, or I
would swallow it,
and the flames would travel
through my veins
and down my spine
and trickle to my toes
and let me feel.

There are times when I love you
and times when I wish
that the hands of fate
could sever and incinerate
the string that wraps
around both our hearts.