A constant chill, rushes through
These bodies, deserted channels
Haunted, by a love, buried from sight,
Their whispers are forgotten pieces
Of a rich history, bled out,
Dried up, in the destruction of the wasteland,
No sun to warm the two, wrapped
In each other, their blanket arms
Lost in the bitter bite,
Still, a smile under dust
Outlines the fading ledge of the earth,
Distant from life, but firm grasp
Kept, throughout the decay around them,
Even when blown away, they grow back
For they are rooted, in love.
©DorianPoe 2015
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