Box Of A Cello

To the silence of it all, echoing memories
through the willows and trees
along the thistles of the Susquehanna
of death's moonlight in your eyes
whispering oboes

as you grew pale and I died with you
with chained melodies of love
tucked away in my portmanteau
of my gothic lunch and your tarnished flesh
with lusting palpitations in the twilight

star bright, eternal life
with a mahogany string-box of a cello  
and amorous proclivities of my shining  
rolling tides along the byways
whittling the night away

to the silence of it all, echoing memories
through the willows and trees
along the thistles of the Susquehanna  
with the essence of death
a cold September