The simplest of my desires,
an ailment for these wounds;
They avoid me like the stars
were just fleeing from the moon.
Time has no mercy,
so precise in his plan,
because now was the then
when then slipped through a strand.
A novel of thoughts,
but no language for the pen.
Sinking skin and brittle bones,
when soul so lonesome spent.
The blood of every battle
spills the same as the last.
Buried with every loss
to relinquish the past.
Eaten by desire,
for a kiss on these wounds.
Hold me like the stars
stay aside the moon.