He Is The Sun
We could lie on hilltops, amongst flowers of paper
Counting each tiny pinprick diamond of heaven.
And breathe easily as the blue velvet cools each immortal laceration
Never to wake up with hands around our throats or blades in our spines
But arms around each other.
We could close our emeralds to the caged rose
Luminous broken stars and dead angel’s tears nestled in our midnight lace .
Dancing on our vanilla marble, only the sweep of powdered ebony trailing kisses
Evanescent rosebuds, greeting shattered new dawns with joyous ringing
From our favourite rolls and screens.
We could spread our arms and circle the mausoleum
While the sky sobbed snow, kicking over sorry leaves and dry razorblades.
Chemical tears would no longer be ours to keep; we could walk away from the rain
Tempest of sorrow, these curses you shower turn to dust in the sprawling yellow
Even in death, ardour concurs all.
We could close each open door to a new late dawn
Whispering enchanted lovers prayers until our icy crystal locked lips matched the blue of our cyanide.
And I could spend my days with you, not tearing my eyes away from your face for any moment in time.
And you could forgive me and we could lie, very still, for eternity, like fickle Romeo and struck Juliette.
They kiss, the sky falls.