In The Garden I Will Die. In

There Is Nothing More Poetic And Terrible Than The Skyscrapers' Battle With The Heavens That Cover Them. Snow, Rain, And Mist Highlight, Drench, Or Conceal The Vast Towers, But Those Towers, Hostile To Mystery And Blind To Any Sort Of Play, Shear Off The Rain's Tresses And Shine Their Three Thousand Swords Through The Soft Swan Of The Fog.

The One Thing Life Has Taught Me Is That Most People Spend Their Lives Bottled Up Inside Their Houses Doing The Things They Hate.

Night Of Sleepless Love The Night Above. We Two. Full Moon. I Started To Weep, You Laughed. Your Scorn Was A God, My Laments Moments And Doves In A Chain. The Night Below. We Two. Crystal Of Pain. You Wept Over Great Distances. My Ache Was A Clutch Of Agonies Over Your Sickly Heart Of Sand. Dawn Married Us On The Bed, Our Mouths To The Frozen Spout Of Unstaunched Blood. The Sun Came Through The Shuttered Balcony And The Coral Of Life Opened Its Branches Over My Shrouded Heart.

I'm Afraid To Be On This Shore A Trunk Without Limbs, And What I Most Regret Is Not To Have Flower, Pulp, Or Clay For The Worm Of My Suffering.

Death, Vicious Death, Leave A Green Branch For Love.