Do you remember our stance when we kissed?
Your back, seeded into that powdered wall.
My arms belted around your chiseled waist,
Waltzing in our incendiary ball.
And when we pulled each other ever near,
Our hearts were spontaneously set alight.
They burned with a passion ever so clear,
Swiveling in a fond pantomime fight.
And we crunched like leaves in a forest fire,
Flickering to the tunes of Cupid’s lyre.
To you, I once was your Vitruvian man—
Proof of perfection in a world so dim.
All of our thoughts, and that ultimate plan,
Belonged in a future ever so grim.
Your eyes no longer burned with desire,
But spoke in a tongue I did not know.
Your heart made room to house a new sire,
And the world I lived in had lost its glow.
My body had become a hollow pot,
With all of my effort coming to naught.
All those vultures then sought your acquaintance,
For nothing remained in the world for them
To judge as the fruits of your vile flagrance.
Which caused them then to sing a new anthem.
On long lonely nights, I looked to the sky,
Hoping and waiting for a great white light.
And I called to the gods, resting on high,
To save me from this discomforting plight.
My prayers did not seem to reach heaven,
From the look of the moon’s languid session.
Our love is now a corpse; a thing that takes
Up space where it is not needed, nor is it
Wanted. Yet it meticulously breaks
My heart, when I read Anteros’ writ.
The battle was fought but the war was lost,
Our campaign of love, perished an infant.
This painful failure came at a great cost,
Ending in the noyade of love’s seed plant.
The log is dampened, the fire is dead,
Here lies the blood of our lamb that’s been shed.