Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history,
is the story of our love;
a spiritual decree.
Penned onto the memory of my simple,
is the epic of our union,
quite beautifully described.
I am stunned by the depth of your soul.
Shall I be forever mystified?
And this evening,
brazenly confetti’d up on a Hollywood freeway overpass,
I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart.
While my soul bleeds adoration in silence,
I wonder if this is love’s crucifixion?
Is this the way Mary felt in the garden?
An answer is of no consequence,
for what I shall remember long after I have died,
is the memory of your face,