We Lost,  
are children now—
though we aged quickly
to become loveless, depressed, and
sighing.

Lying
a moment next to you
incognizant, impressed, reminiscing,
forever Immature.

Simple, damp hair down,
resting on my face, loved;
true eyes emoting.

Calm cinnamon lips
kiss my heart, (beating inward)
my life, to die slow.  

Gentle
is the lover
who dies to spring more love
and kiss soft upon the shoulder.