  Hide shame behind that piece of glass in your eye and beckon me hither. I come with redemption, to the side of a dying ember of purpose lying upon your hidden hearth.
Ignite the passion of possibilities with your stolen flames. I will not burn alone, mon belle oiseau. Peel the charred and useless skin and suspend naked before me. No harm, no regret. Nothing barring the space between time and distance. Creep inside, fold into me and kiss my heart and I will suck the oxygen from your lungs and breathe out your lies like smoke.
Icicles hanging on your intentions and frosting over the patterns of love I fall so easily into Glassy eyes full of deep dark secrets such as yours are so enchanting to gaze upon. Lock the look of your visage inside my fridge of memories for a midnight snack. I will devour your senses with my thoughts, and wrap your soul inside my own. Swirl contagion and mystery inside the batter of your charm, and leave me anticipating the rising and baking of dreams.
The aroma promising warm, sweet nothingness- heavy and rich. Your love giving me a stomach ache but leaving my sweet tooth unquenched, filling my mind with hot air, dizzying my equilibrium like carbon monoxide slinking quietly into sealed spaces. A halo of clouds resting around my head- my heels will proceed me, and the angel-birds will sing a funeral dirge welcoming me to a town free of gravity where rational thought is illegal and the heart is free to rule: a relational anarchy of body pieces (organs?).
Oh, wait! Snap me back to earth and clip my wings- you have given me no reason to fly, you have given me no reason to fall. Instead I bounce upon your words like a dot atop a karaoke song. Earthbound and soggy- the clouds which encircle me prove full of raindrops and thunderbolts- I hang upon the promise of a longing look from you like anticipation of a sunny day in the middle of winter.
I acquiesce to the silent demands of an internal spring: re-growth and re-birth through the discarding of your skin. I will no longer have need of its warmth, or the comforting lullaby of your pulse against my ear. Parting would prove much easier if there were some form of sweet distraction that cupid could muster up for me- I would not abuse, but rather caress gently and embrace in honesty. Alas, your face manifests itself round every corner I turn, behind every door I open. My heart is sick with memories and I cannot escape the aftermath of this goodbye.
And so my hours will pass in dream-time, lingering in the purgatorial hemisphere of past and future, void of present. Reality is not a concept I am eager to accept. 
