midnight embers, fatal depart
hidden within a tower
rendezvous, exchange in heart
this is the waltz of the flower
A Gentle Glance At The Gruesome
A lover, A writer and an indecent adult. art imitating life. a walk through the life of a young woman in Melbourne, Australia.
midnight embers, fatal depart
hidden within a tower
rendezvous, exchange in heart
this is the waltz of the flower
Unwilled and unchanging was the folly of adolescence. Each individual succumbed to its predictable pattern, yet no know decipher it until they were left in it’s wake, burned and aged.
Lucky enough to have loved in adolescences’ tight grip and to enjoy the rose coloured world even it if ephemeral. The world was different with your presence and together, a world of our own. Created in love’s tender image, always fond in my memory.
Face to face with you now, maturity stricken and beaten down by adulthood, the world of our past lives, only now, a fleeting reality. Played on loop and kept alive by the endless possibilities of Divine Providence it is suspended in another present, unknown to us.
I will look at you with admiration, for to have shared this with you will always be an honour. This will be the only eternity we will know because it is the only thing we can both be sure of.
On this rainy night, slowly descending into the earth I play the same waltz over and over. My hands bled from the strings and my heart from the ache. Each note a token of my affection I send to your ears. Hear my song tonight, all night and the next. Every single night forever more until this waltz is the language we share and the only words speak are poems from the romantics.
A Folie à deux.
You look at me with eyes that eat into my soul,
eyes that I cannot turn away from.
I want to sink into them and drink your thoughts.
Float away on your dreams and hum nightmares away.
I feed on your voice and lust for your skin,
how did I survive before?
for your voice is my water
and your presence, my air.
I will follow you
to each corner of the earth,
sing you to sleep,
and wake you each morning.
My music, my sonnet, my fire, my soul
how did I survive before?