Red roses unfurled bright fires by the footsteps of the dead, embers bleed in candlelight orange as it fades into the night.
Bereaving of the death of love, embraced by the cold winters of the absence, to beg and to have failed.
You'll begin to have more time to give, losing yourself in hours of conversations, wishing he'd talk more.
Drown me at nighttime, for I am yearning to have your face be seen before I let myself die.
Let the lightning hit your heart, burning the memories of warm nights.
Sorrowful abode of muffled voices dispirited of its silent thoughts.
And in the ravaging storms, he is at peace in your love.