I linger to what was rightfully mine,
A thread of flesh, a stain of scarlet ray,
The taste of tainted fruit, at times,
Should alter you, yet one could say
Not kindness he may give when asked,
A shadow light and dim, too weary in its shape,
Too lovely, yet then withered in first dusk,
The carrion just bones, which could no longer fake,
This corpse was mine, I deem I faltered,
When to seek for the wing of the angel I bled,
Forsaken wish, cremated eyes adored…
I dreamt of a love which‘d been too long dead…