A Cosmic Composition

A color that I have almost forgotten sits so dearly upon your lips, and here unto you I offer, a poor man’s last cigar,
A cigarette, which is a bit broke, but of its gently lit embers, may it match this flower that I have also, dared to gift unto you,
All in a hopes to bring contrast to that smile belonging to you, and a sense of cosmic composition unto your delicate world,
The primrose beneath the moon, therefore, beneath the starlights that art gazing into a glass, brimming thereof a scented cherry red wine

 A  light…Angelica, 

A fire, no, a flame, to illuminate your kiss, as well as the sky…blending with the atmosphere for such things are perpetually warm. 
To inhale is to take a bold step into grace, to exhale is a gallant walk into an eternal escape.
Where the dialogue that we could possibly share is often subtle, but a single word could perhaps last forever .
Like statements so similar to that of Love, or something all too simple such as Hello

…Ergo…

From your elusive sigh sprung forth a story riddled in nostalgia, and what seems to be a longing for the past
Yet, here we linger at a bypass, comforted by a fashion held between the river Belvedere and the bittersweet Lillet Blanc
Shadows to be forsaken, however, not the look of one who tires of her own beauty…exhausted deeply by her own given, gilded nature.
Rare is this site belonging to paradise hidden among the somber silhouettes found hugging this room.  
Therefore, a pristine essence seeps soundlessly out amidst thy lips, and I exist so inebriated merely by your presence 

To what is a royal reverence, in a verse it seems purposefully blue 
Much like the acoustics singing a departing c’est la vie to…to what is life, I guess…to what is life that we perceive in view 

A nocturnal fantasy considering things to persist, however, the cavalier voice held by the vox populi whispers solely of fantastic scores. 
While dancing ever slowly towards a peaceful oblivion. 
Situated among those evanescent memories impersonating these candles, that are gripping superficially to the night.
Thus, I only know of this night…and of Ovid’s philosophies on dreams…
Hence, a metamorphoses you are, my beloved Venus, embracing a shifting eveningtide…wakeful, although the buoyancy is slightly uneven

By reason, thee odds in which we may share this brief period containing lofty sentiments repeatedly, can be counted as astral. 
Even so, ancestral art the souls, and quantum-ly infinite…binary, enduring heaven always together…thereby we shall meet again.
Not by faith, rather by chance according to a timely divine order that can be seen as happenstances… a miracle one would say. 
Into the twilight we are set to converse our goodbyes, those made short akin to these enchanting gaspers and upon one your lipstick stains 

The keepsake I am told hold colored almost forgotten, revamped as a everlasting thought.
Time the blissful curse to whom I am to wait upon…thee adversary, who stands during the daybreak as I stutter my unwanted adieu 

…Adieu I say…adieu…adieu…adieu.

-Renee Veona

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