So Cry

In the sanctity of your dispassion, with a heavy death laden upon your back, a cold breath blithering your skin as it strips to petals in the infirmity of autumn, love and cry. Cry as the broken day sways ever changing around the limits of malaise. Cry with rhythm to the bereft world, left to heave and cough through the swinging of the leaves and boughs. Kiss the broken ground on which love stands, some short of proud. Love- not only because its medicinal values rust like gold and diamonds in the passing time . Love- not only because the brush of your skin against mine, with closed eyes, dancing to the opus of our lust, would prove sublime. But love and cry, love and cry, love and cry, for the soft whistle of our feelings give us flight.