Let us just lie there,
Deep in the honeysuckle hardness,
Burning souls in cigarette smoke,
In banshee fervor, that wild frenzy
Common to inhuman things,
Of which human sings, with eyes tossed into the sun.
Let us paint this pale world,
In color of our kisses,
Half stygian, half transparent,
To mourn and cherish,
Each moment that perish,
Waiting to open the eye,
For the rhythm of our love,
Is no weeping butterfly,
It is the thunder of the pain, the echo of the end,
That aches, shudders, and passes,
Heavy and heartless; as magma under waves.
The shore sits silver,
Ocean dyed with nightfall,
And the bangle of moon, waiting upon the wall,
Whilst we of champagne wings,
We rise, flesh afire,
To melt into the wind,
And as rain inspire.