Your eyes are made of honey and glass

Each breath I take around you is a stolen pen-knife to the back,

So the veil I dawn I have drawn with a feather in order to ink it,

But I still see in your eyes what I could’ve foretold-

Midas’s liquid stands solid and cold

 

My organic arms quiver at your whisper,

And your lotus smothered words make my speech slur,

Then I wonder how you remade my sweetened quartz colored trinkets

Inside my shattered ceramic, where I’m merely a hypochondriac,

And you drank so sweetly from your tear stained cracks

 

I smell the fear of sap crying from the towering pine trees,

And Boreas’ clouds half-turn their faces away hastily,

For even lawless light could discern false sight 

And pity the butterflies that rally for your lotus words,

Encored by the virulent wind that carries white winged birds

 

Though, am I only a basin for my tears to begin?

Where I beckon upon the absent moon to croon my hymn?

For I’ll never want the tides pulled, since the stars shall always be ripe,

And my eyes will be consumed by golden honey glory

As your lips call upon blazing flames and you melt what I own,

From your perfect lips, oh honey glazed stone, you burn what you’ve sown

 

And on those lips you’ve made sticky sweet ash

Of past mistakes you’d wish to rehash,

So I will long for the destruction of Pompeii;

I will wish to be ashen and bereft of my body as millenniums pass,

Where I can call out accolades that I wish to grasp

 

On the bay of the river styx I am merely a component.

Of many, I’m one with a trunk of ivory and branches of horn

Where I bear the fruit of eternal delay-

Artificial seeds of pomegranate, merely a deterrerring melody

From entrancing you with Beethoven's forgotten 10th symphony

 

I hope your white wings take you too high

And I hope Helios claims you as tongue tied

So that a great prophet may deter against your soul

As it swims down the river of invulnerability,

Held by me at your swollen heart.