No different is passion
than love to exhaust;
to lose breath in relief,
to losing old cause;
a river of reasons
now dried by time;
and broken by a depth
as shallow as crime;
but a passion defeats
more chances than tears,
more moments than hours
so doubtful of years;
remained lonely then is
my feared intimacy,
shared by a promise
of favored fallacy;
or only I'm bound
mistreating a delusion,
a forbidden as believed
of swollen emotions;
submitted to a burn
of beliefs in mortality;
yet fragile as my words
to scarce morality;
insane I, perhaps
of charmed complexity
to dangers it prescribes
or innate insanity;
ah, life be my sake,
or warmth of a kiss,
never truth to my soul
should I lose before this.
