Wayward distances clear barriers to our
failure. Two-thousand miles and three oceans deep,
supposed stronghold of this hearts power
but, as it lingers like a hungry lion, it becomes weak
The fire in the beast’s eyes
from hidden chambers in the mind,
and color green all around the skies,
make love so far away hard to find.
All those kisses become ashes,
remaining pieces of a burning fire
Lengthy meals become small rations.
Like burnt-out candles, our time expires
And now this letter becomes a remnant
of what once was;
love’s funeral, a carbon-dated wasteland.
By the time you read it, it’s the past.