I gaze into the eyes of faun
That this paper does but hide,
And, for a while, my heart does linger
Where my reflections dwell
Without the words to push it away

Though my heart is now of twain,
Never have my lips been kissed
Wistful for that secret name,
That my soul did pine to touch,
As my heart, within me, lies broken
Before my lips were ever kissed

By whom, I know not,
Doth this dew-scented lily,
E’er serene in the morning light,
Mimic the vie of angels
In a tumult for her sky-toned wreath

And when the emerald, winter storms
Are cast upon my skyclad soul,
Silent reverie clutches me
And haunts my loveless dreams.

Upon the ruins of my sacred heart,
From stone, I shape my afterthought,
Beneath the moonless night I cry,
Alone, I shed each painful tear,
Each one, long lost inside.
To the lost love for whom I cry,
I troth each crystal tear.

Purloiner of my most precious Angel’s wings,
By sorrow and these opaque hands,
I curse your palpitating heart,
For entwined around the words you weave
Are my solitary gallows.

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