Across the river and into the trees.

The autumnal gray sky reminds me
Of the natural end to all things.

I am older now. I've lost many I loved.
My body and heart torn to pieces.

I'm a vague shadow of what used to be a man.
The leaves crunch and splinter under foot.

Just as my bones will one day, under foot

of another with all of life ahead of them.

I see you. My love. My child of glass.
Your youth and innocence glow in the sunlight.

Your smile. Japanese painters nor renaissance
craftsman could never replicate it. A vision.

If god was ever real. He created your lips.
Flowing locks of angels breath for hair.

Ivory snowfall and peach fuzz flesh.
Delicate fingers that weave spells.

Eyes. Still koi pond pools of tranquility.
Legs. Curves and bends like the eternal road.

Lips. Oh the lips that give life and joy. Soft as
petals, silk, the morning sunrise in pink dawn.

God stopped here because he knew he could do no better. The last gift of heaven.

If god existed at all. If not, than molecules are
divine like in creating pure beauty.

I am old. But your youth is like lightening
hitting me out of the cold blue sky.

I remember and I feel and I yearn.
Youth's passion and tongue and carnality.

You give these gifts back to me. Life. Love.
Oh darling. I missed these pretty things.

These pretty, useless things. The frivolous.
Wanton. Orgasmic. Pleasure dome of Khan.

Oh my little one. To know you is to know
how to good life could be. How it used to be.

My youth spent like spare change, callous and
carelessly discarded on the road of life.

Let us go child. Let us go now. Down the hill.
Across the river and into the trees.

We can sit in the grass. Feel the sunlight.
And love the only way we know how.

In compassion. In soul searching. In bliss.
In repose. In your heart. I live forever.