To proclaim with these tainted lips
That such beauty thrives in the garden of Eden; how bittersweet would it be?
Molded by the Lord Himself, a sculpture's masterpiece.
Among this world, you tread softly,
Over mountains of great heights and through the depths of the steepest valleys.
Rise and fall, hidden beneath my ribs
Upturned lips, cheekbones stretched
Untamed locks, a nest of a starling.
Eyes creased; jewels at the hearth
You: my saviour, my confidant; my love
Lost.
Locks now lying limp, meandering to your waist.
And your smile: a mere crescent of the river.
Eyes now closed, though your stone beauty still intact
O' how I yearn to see those jades again!
But from this slumber, you will not wake.
Your eyes will remain a story untold,
The book closed like the hurst curtains are too.
Perhaps your head is no longer stiff from the wood of your headrest,
Perhaps your arms, self-embraced, no longer crave the warmth of my touch.
Perhaps you have forgotten me
And like the same river of our love, your memories; washed away.