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Melted candles atop a resigned dresser
Wilted roses lying atop a white cloud
The flickering of fires and shadows mesh well with your
Batting eyelashes your heavy words and your breathing in rhythm with
the cadences of muted car alarms and the silence in between
the silence of random gunshots
[And yes the window is closed shut as to keep away the pain of reality]
The scent of passion is Indistinguishable from
the color of roses and I rest my hand upon your
Luscious pink hills and your saccharine green valleys
And your lips are reminiscent of Cupid's salted arrow
Bated breathed and hushed voices
Fleeting touches and orange eyes
Broken white pillars and icy blue roads sirens say
Your voice is of the fertile rivers of Euphrates

[These dusty sidewalks are faring well adorned with dried and caked blood
and are quite flighty for the ransom of stolen dreams have been held high
And lives torn asunder through the mark of a bullet send
chilling echoes across the once gentle city I have heard
The moans of ghosts rife with fear and despair mourning some
Apparent loss of victory or at least something akin to a victory
a loss less painful in its injection of ennui
O'rehead the musty roses litter round the dead bodies
the snow on their noses the remnants of green leaves stain their pockets
The blistering violence like broken glass scar that dream once
Thought to be deferred but revealed to be absent and clash dissonantly with
A derivative form of hope austere in nature blind and deftly jailed.] 
 
Our bones are becoming too fragile to handle this weight of
Delicious malcontent spirit I am being bombarded by the anxiety
Of words too illicit to be spoken by these mortal tongues so rightfully
Bestowed by our gracious God Words knock on our velvet doors incessantly
With fervent wind blowing through the golden poplars ravaging their leaves
I attempt to evade the graceful fall into sin like a Golden Apple
Your touches are like the decaying fingers of dawn that
Warmeth the widest plains of amber waves and
I fall in your oceans and embers once more.  
 
 [Upon these dissonant tones flying o’re the ramparts of bleak darkness with
The persistence of rising fear serving as the sole light of the flighty streets the memories of
Corrupt hath lain their brittle hand over the graves of the weeping Those same
Bloody streets are shining black with eminent death
Broken street lamps
Gangster shadowed in billowing fire
Outside the cracked glass of the Lovers' window]
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