amour, my dear, amour
to watch a moment slip slowly between fingers, awkwardly stretching to maintain some form of control, to render the most obvious intention unclear, changing faces to fit the mood, this amour, to break down walls once protecting hearts, offering bonheur though the only thought awakened in this mind is one of subtle haine, a hatred defined by the softest touch, though it burns through hollow skin, interupting a rambling fool, love-struck and unable to move, to explain the douleur once captured in the slightest breath, the air moving from one mouth to the next, she speaks, though a broken record insues, a redudant speech each caller receives, this smile unfamiliar as she traces the edges to remember, a face once seen now a stranger, can you stand without moving and will the floor become his grave? a mere kiss, no meaning attached, she spreads them without concern, oh, my dear, this cannot be, this must be a dream, for only a dream can cause such misery, such beauty, an end of all to come, and what has yet to dawn.