your lips,
painted the finest shade of crimson
gently tighten,
preventing the truth from pouring out

your eyes,
lined the smokiest tone of gray
slowly close,
shielding the pain from exposure

your collar bones,
protruding the way you always dreamed of
shy away,
covered by endless scarves

your vertebrae,
resembling the perforations of a page
sink down,
wrapped in layers of fabric

the measures taken
to hide the mess you've become
can't manage to speak louder
than the demons in your head

An equine of the purest black
Of the smokiest shape
Doth tread lightly
With calm words
Filled with the strength
And the weight of morality
His path dictated by the men
Who stand fore and aft
Clearing the way
Pushing him on
That he might stand on high
Nigh impossible to tear down
For a symbol exists long past its time
And though his steps of smoke are made
They echo throughout the decades

What can I do?
When I am so smitten for thee-
That the icicles of my past, melt in just
a stare of thine starry eyes.

There is a chasm between Me
and Thouest, which lies a fire so warm,
And bright, it does at once light
the darkest of nights and desires.

What I would give-
to feel thine enamoured heat...
Caressing the knots and scars across my body.
Your kiss is comparable to the smokiest oud and fresh tobacco-
lighting our pyres.

Alas, it is impossible to rhyme in your presence!
I stutter at the fluttering of your individual hairs
standing up to greet
the deity you love most deep.

This vessel is the human alchemy for thee:
The everlasting sycamore cooling beside the sea.