Gazing upon the absence of light
observing a world traveling to the edge,
She dresses in fragile minds
granting endless time the process
of birth, the luxury of plush desires
and the adornment of vulnerable smiles
In her dreams he dreams, until her fingers
find the flesh that creates.
He is the King of colors, of images
in gold, the essence of verisimilitude
He lives only to view glory,
this beauty exquisitely made, she, the
captivator of polished stones
and droplets of zigzag
accentuating the art of splendor.
In the caress of mid night her body is cashmere
rain upon his skin, an etheral stream
of deliverance
The gods are cruel and twisted
like vines of grapes,
In their vicious games every night
her beauty fades, yet he stays the same

As the sun rises, she dies,
over and over again