Immortelle

Who, so convincing, scattered these seeds among such
         an ensorrowed beauty?
This rain, though thorough, will never sanctify this self-aversion
(lest we forget, interpretation is up to the discretion of convenience).

And your eyes, spiraled with blue and green, remind me of every other
         contour a face is capable of, composed drop by drop.
Still, like a circle, you affect this evaporation (if anything, the thought is, of
         its own nature, anhydrous).
In the purest abstract I can conceive – I suspire to kiss you, Avelaval
(Aesthesia never seems so sweet).

Existence, infused by presence, is enough to satisfy,
         so let’s drink Her in and grow. Let’s grow like liquid, immortelle.
And I’d rather comfort your silent crying for one day than ever see the rain again.