The Faded Kiss

March 31, 2008
By
When a kiss has become routine
And the lips', essence, faded
Find me rather forgotten, unseen
Than with a love that's jaded
Forgive me not of sings I've wrought
When passion has reaped them so
Prefer the gallows, than lay distraught
Of false hope kindling low
So pure, each touch, a nectar divine
The bodies entwine with a toll
Writhing, aching, shivers the spine
Trickled past bone to soul

In short, death's grip seems more welcoming, indeed
Because a love without passion is like a want without need





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