Triste

I have touched the rim
Of mortal beauty,
I have quenched the limn
Of heaven's grace:
A face
With swollen eyes and sleepy grin,
Myself
Smiling down at him.

I watched the moments,
Crystallized and crumbling,
Crack. I placed myself upon a wrack
Of arms stretched in embraces, wrapped
Myself in garments of delight
And let the pain of loss seep
Through the ephemeral night.

How I yearned and cried for morning
When sleep might cede to frenzies, heat
Precede the chill
Of walking on, alone, uphill.

Now loss and love, contentment
Mix among the morning mist; the tryst
Has been forgotten, or removed
Into a foiled rapture, rueful laughter
Stains the pavements and the dark sky
Drips. How I was sorry for love, then, since
I have consumed an earthly fire
By sipping from the bloom of bliss.