There is no metaphor for a gleaming mortal,
My life time carved into his skin,
Such a miniscule number of existing words,
None to describe such an impeccable sin.

His fingers lace into my dismantled soul,
as we eavesdrop on the tears of the sky,
persuading stars to straighten their paths,
and to the usual, we may bid a goodbye.

sweating with fever from the same little germ,
we are wrapped inside of a forbidden heat,
truth plotting against our inevitable rise,
Such a brilliant love leaves us feeling elite.

Mortal scent mixing in with eyes, hair, and lips,
Passion will never justify this chemical reaction,
There is no hyperbole to express his incredible lure,
And from this world, he is my sweet mortal distraction...