Her face is a dying star in the distance.
She blinks when I feel her again
As the alcohol of a lost feast that still sounds
Inside the dream where she lives.
According to triumphs oblivion begins her thaw,
As well as a simple clock defeat love.
She returns like a dethroned queen from heaven
That she filled with crosses to make me bleed.
Her body slips from my hands as magma made stone
Monday, January 4, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: heartbreak