DesperateRemedy

I was told you are the ends of stars or were: all dirt and debris, uncertain blaze but I had whittled you in small stone, agate eyes, bone to bone. Debris in a cloud at your feet and my fingers. I said before: Come, darling. You and I and steel to conquer silk will lay your ribbons down. I would take you coarse and I would have you honest; no silk frivols, preening lace, but warm carved stone swaying clumsy diagonals on checkered marble. May I this dance, white queen? May I a waltz on this our chessboard ballroom? But after the colors fell, quick cobalt flight, mauve in a following scream, the music stopped and you knelt