Bronze to purple to red to greenish-yellow to bronze again
Your kisses wilt into my skin
And- for one final time-
The poison seeps into my veins;
Intoxicated, entranced, and utterly alone
I lay paralyzed
A slow upward climb before inescapable decline.
I watch the rotations of the stone-
I could have sworn it was a boulder-
Rolling from the top of the hill,
Farther and farther and farther still,
Kiss me.
With your antivenom,
Let me be free
To chase it and drag it and push it back up.
But before I lean in and resign
To claw back through the mudslide,
To let each falling tear drop be dried,
To stand tall in white, the blushing bride,
And swallow 3 ounces of unbottled pride (every two to four hours, of course),
I hear my mother whisper.
I catch a glimpse of it in my periphery,
Rolling hills and tranquility,
There it is–
The other side.

Rule #1

Don't write to please by writing something so above the ordinary and grandiose, yet at the same time writing something that's not even believable to yourself.