Body of shame.
It haunts in tatters.
All this grief smites all that matters,
'til there's no one left to blame.
It has the fading scars
of good ol' times
plastered
like flaking paint:
Tattoos of radiant beach sunsets;
forgotten "beneath" a shore
of its memories
like an ordinary pebble
under a mountain of stones.
Ethereal grasp
never touching a thing,
yet finding itself
touched
by desire.
Where goes the time?
Past yet to come.
It has broken scales that balance wine,
yet it's sober to passion's drum.