Ammassment

We will love but,

We will not leave ourselves,

Our crust,

Our brittle…shell.

We can love but,

Cannot forget,

Her frozen touch,

We still but fret.

Her singeing scent stole,

Her skinning’s tint dull,

Dead girl, coeval,

As last night’s sip of Pomerol,

Age nibble me little, time eat me whole,

We can love, but cannot control,

The emoting vibrations of our past heart,

From which we cannot depart,–ourselves,

Ourselves from,

The heart, the holy drum,

Beating with fever and never numb,

Speaking in actions, and dumb.

Marks!

Lie upon a chiseled heart,

With names from past, unveil arts,

We cannot love without amassment.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s