Aria Of Was
fiery palms of leaves
clasp through long goodbyes.
my failures exit as well
yet cling with the audacity of tombs.
i will not kiss again,
no chisel to extend the was of my lips.
no pyramid of joys to reclimb,
though my face chances to form
on the crawl of weeping sands.
phrases of lusty rain
strum blue ocean’s breath;
so i played the yields of love,
blending heave and song.
but mine was a music of solos,
and the ocean, in the end, stands alone.
the pas de deux of hearts in storms
cannot cure what caskets store
in their cold breasts.
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