I remember you,

Throbbing like a deep rooted scar;

As vaguely as the golden light leaves faux

Trails of your silhouette on a Sunday morning;

Taunting, almost, here, almost,

Bones like thick thistles 

And a mouth like sour milk,

Together with every reincarnating evening sun,

I atone for your fractured heart,

I birth effortlessly a desire for a 

hollowed hand,

Together with my ever growing torment

I will tirelessly mold us 

Into a robust statue 

So concrete; not even your solemn grief 

Can break and crack the likes of us 

I will build a shattered throne 

For your colossal 

heart to reside, on days 

Where the scorching winter snow

Burns holes through your soles and 

Trenches through mine;

I will make the distance feel like resistance 

And how my giant voice mimics the very breaking sound of

your own; a ghost of a touch

Vanquished by my rancid love

Bones like sour milk,

And a mouth like thick thistles;

Lust drowned like a bee

In honey, yet I have savagely loved you

With all my clothes on, 

Still