Spanish Mist Poem by Ilan Cohen

Painted glass that wasn't kissed 
and the memory vivid blue,  
walking through the Spanish mist  
with these tears of saddened you 

A figure worn and thin, quite gaunt 
Etched upon these craggy lines 
The beauty in the dark does haunt 
The sketch within the reddest wine

Satin sheets and a soft gaze 
Sweetened tastes of tulip lips 
Lying in the purple haze
As we drowned in ocean rips 

O love,   crueller than Satans'  whip
For life now lost on lovers' ships