beneath the pale stars
your strong arms holding me tight
the clock strikes midnight
carriage returns to pumpkin
dress of silk and gold to rags

The finest of Spirits, that touched My Lips.
Was never that intoxicating.
Neither did their sweetness Eclipse,
the Magic your Kisses kept Creating.
No Melody I heard, was played that Fine.
To be Music to both My Ears.
Nor have Notes had those sadful Words.
The Way your Voice, bring out My Tears.
The finest Silk that touched My Skin,
was never that Tender, Smooth or Light.
They never wrapped Me with Finesse.
As your Arms do for Me every Night.
The World offered Me Diamonds and Gold
and Gifts as Pure as the Morning Dew.
But none of them caught My Eyes,
as My Eyes were set on U.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺-
𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘬.
𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥:
𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥.
𝘖𝘳-
𝘜𝘨𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘺.
𝘉𝘶𝘵-
𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳:
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦.
𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.
𝘍𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.
𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.
𝘉𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵.
𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚.
𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 '𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣'.

Was it longing in is sad, blue eyes, or was it lust?
Maybe it was a beautiful combination of the two.
She always left him wanting more.
So he gave up the sunlight for her.
He promised to spend the rest of his days  in darkness, between silk sheets and, hushed tones.
He never asked anything of her.
Seeing her body covered in nothing but moonlight was more than
his soul could ever dream of.

Between silken sheets we let all of the golden clocks fall over the edge of our world.
There, we kissed and kissed until we could measure time only by the rise and fall of our broken breaths and knew no other taste
than the light in each others bones.

her voice
bent me
backwards
over the
bedsheets
every
syllable
spinning silk
into sea
as she drew
the breath
from my ears
and a symphony
from my lips
she turned my
twin bed
into titanic
along with me
and as I was
drowning
she was speaking
poetry

If the sky turns pink
when the spring breeze
touches her silky skin

If the filed of lavender sighs
when it yearns for her scent

If the sunflowers
worship her raven hair
like the sun

If the moon weeps with
longing over her absence  

If a thorny flower
hurts liker her

white jasmine petals
like the finest silk so pure
nature's sweet perfume

Wrap me in silk
and send me home
I am nothing but a sinner
who knows
how to drown.