there is corruption in your
veins now my love,
your heart is sick,
your brow tired;
but you are not dead,
your eyes sparkle
with the light i remember,
you still whistle the tune
that was the symphony
to which my blood danced;
you still smile when you
find me staring into your
wounded body looking
for the life i grew up knowing;
it is over now,
my love, the pain is waning;
i will set your broken limbs;
i will tend your bruised cheeks;
i will blanket you against
the chill with all the love
this tear stained heart
can muster.
For the city of New Orleans; Not dead, merely sleeping. August 2005 - August 2008
