The emanation of beclouded sky luminesce upon me with nothing to offer.
This silky sheet, old and in shreds, still gloat the rimy moment when you and I were under.
Your scent evanesce as you left me in parcels.
And even the piquancy of our faint lips has turned bland and bitter.
I wake up stark-naked and a mirror.
With no one around but me, with the silence from dead breadth of loneness I stand in front.
I have only done this scarcely ever, ogling at my pith callously. Inch by inch, the deeper I see my oblivion. This cryptic emptiness.
As I lay my mind to ruminate the night when our souls entwined, right when our chests succumbed out from its strings, I feel a dark bolt's chastise. I feel dire remorse calling out endlessly.
That I had to see you go. That had I not confine with puerile cowardice, this rainy morning would have been shared between us all.
I could have spent more time, I could have listened more with your incessant rumblings, I could have just smiled when I see you mad, I could have answered all your calls, I could have held you even closer. I wish I could.
The body before me is the body I have not seen since. The hole is much profound that however I clothe myself, it exudes blindly. I can only be hypocritical and no one to fill it but you. I am in crypt of you.
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