The amor has run its course
The mirage of its immortality exposed
Its deception but a vague shade of amaranth
a slender blood trail
claiming descent along the jaded corpse
of the orchid rose

Morbid clothes
The time to attire such is now
For severance is the dernier cri
Antagonizing cupid’s bow

Remnants of passion’s creek
Invaded by violent perch
Vultures whooshing their persons inland
Beaks taunting in guttural song
For the post-mortem of flirtation

Dissertations of the heart
Tossed for the insentience of the fire place
There will love burn into non-existence
Its ashes like mendicants
for the evening zephyr

An Italian mezzanine weeps resplendently
Esteeming her trinkets in their entirety
Soon to be obscured in splendor
By vandals, who, in piety
Smash at majolicas
Condemning lovers to wander shattered realms
eternally lurking the belly of dusk
Their undying esurience for the dawn