You want me like a flower
to take on a cold yellow
become nothing but a seedling
thrown to the winds
You beg for the death of a sunset era
you pray for love to die
"Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,
as one dead in the bottom of a tomb."
O’ you wish for such ghastly things
the skin is so deeply bruised
that I think I shall never see its ivory sweetness again
You wan before her beauty
and wallow in the memory of flecks of gold
that held you in such warmth
you fear you’ll never find again
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