lamento di amanti'

I've left my heart between the sun and moon, just before the stars whispered farewell. Eventide begins to melt away beneath first morning's blush and I close my eyes, anguishing the loss as if that last small piece of me has gone.
And perhaps, it has.

The rest of me lies in a faraway place, folded warmly in the arms of a man who walks in blue flame and his burden is an avidity for beautiful things. Soldier of romance, wounded yet beguiled by loneliness. There, in that place, sadness is exquisite.

We embrace the cadence of sorrow, gently swaying to the echos of the broken as rain soaked fibres cling to our salacious vulnerability like a crystalline patina. The veil of night is made for lovers and the embers of furious kisses burn our lips.

In our sheer desperation, the doucet ode of 'ti amo' becomes lost to the soughing of the wind through weeping pine bows.

Such is the bittersweet ballad of a lovers' lament.