Your breath — a sugary cloud,
crossed quietly between us,
though received as a gust
As it entered my mouth

You slipped away, your image
faded as if in mist
so sudden, that kiss
We had before the bridge.

I will not write about you,
not tonight
nor tomorrow.

I am tired of running after,
either you
or the future.

Tonight marks the end of us,
the moon and stars
they will witness.

Tears and heart creases,
to every piece
of your every lie.

I’ve had enough of your follies,
deceiving looks
and your selfishness.

I will not write about you,
not today
not ever.

Love will ****** you and love ***** on you.

untitled; not knowing a name to put on my favorite book of how I love to waking up beside you in the morning. Or any knowledge of metaphors and fallacies that exist to define our love. I cannot put a title of the chemistry between us.
Unentitled; Your heart is not mine to love and your hand not mine to hold. I have no title or claim to any ounce, hair, or breathe that you have but I want it so much. I long to be yours, to be entitled to your everything.

His Dark Angel smiled;
cold lips warmed by passion.
The trance compelling.
Desire for the flesh burned
in immortal rage.

The snow fell.

His Golden Muse lay slain;
warm blood cooled by liberation.
The death an afterthought.
Indifference for life
in mortal depression.

The snow fell. The winds rose.

A spirit retreated to the
only embrace that remained.
The Angel stirred in the shadows.
A knife fell.
Taking the bloodied hand
he clasped it tightly in his.

The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze.

The pages of his life blood
lay scattered across the snow.
Like a sacrificial alter
the volumes were placed.
The temple now erected.
Each author a contributing artist.
The funeral pyre now complete.

The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced.

The fire scratched violently at the frosted air;
each enamelled finger reaching out in horror.
Ashes twirled, battling the soft white flakes;
angels and demons seeking one final act of sovereignty.
He glared through the flames, motioning to step forward.
He firmly gripped the stained hand, holding it ever nearer the
flame that writhed in its own tormented agony.
There was scream that emanated like a banshee, yet ended in the flames…

The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced. The end marked.

Nothing hurts more
than seeing you
with her