Her beauty was unlaboured,
like the sun.
My heart, of golden coin -
with clenched fist.

I am love's heretic,
shrouded in her flames -
flesh burning,
scattered embers of truth,
a Pollack in the moonlight...
smoky papertrails of lost memories
fading into the night.

(And I let go)

The currency of time...depreciates
days, hours, minutes, seconds...
moments -
of what used to be you,
papertrails in the moonlight...
antiquated coins of lost value
cast in the shade
of your shadowed beauty.


Rough draft.
Comments Welcome and Appreciated.