The Mourning of a Long Living Fellow

That voice,whispering in my ear That image; these eyes, her hair cry not these tears upon your bosom for am here to paint the rust with chrome sad be not; my arms, your home's walls: my chest be your pillow, my hug for you calls apart your hands and grant me pardon if once in time your heart felt alone. Your touch makes my body tremble like a worrior on drum-taps ready to rumble like a sword, drawn to flirt brings no ease and hurt your lips, approaching mine; moist, warm, and divine squeeze your chest to mine untill our ribs combine that mark you bear, is one of my own; by my lips on your neck once was drawn your fingertips runs upon my body like; a hot knife on butter with a slow strike. Your skin, magic, silk knitted by the sun proudly, whith clouds of the galexy was done warm moments passes slow on us both; like the silence of a witness sworn the oath the love we made will not draw us apart but to quench the desire inside the heart. "That scent, I know from the hour in the rain" I'm gone to a place with no more pain my body is gone; in peace it rest my soul; a victem of haste if could I ask,for you to stop mourn my soul is no more warm, it's heavily worn