Confessional #12

My love grows bland,
and a lover lost to dust and ash;
I grow cold,
and she devoid
of reciprocity.

At the shadow’s ledge,
I peel my clothes off,
spreading my arms as if
they were wings to carry me.

Do You hear my falling?
Can You silence my scream?
Will You love me?

Five thousand miles apart,
with the seas between us,

Romantico.

I am tied
and bound
to my mistakes.

Mistakes in love,
past and present;
wherefore I do not hear
anything beyond our kiss.

The fragmentary illusion
of a marriage of flesh;
where the soul dies
in a rain of argumentation.

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