Falling out of Love

Some things are too delicate

For hands that cannot ask

Like the ever melting candle

And the dripping of its wax

Ephemeral as the dawn

And rising with the dew

The ever breakable spiritless

Quaking beauty of you.

Some things are quite passionate

Quixotic in their glee

Bacchanal in nature

As a fig leaf falling free

And still the fire clamored

At an overwrought iron gate

Became an inferno

Licking the metal that it ate

There's a stench of sodden poison

As if hemlock gave off gas

As I watch the wealth of us

Drained from an empty glass

Perhaps love isn't measured

In reality but dreams

And it flies as it can

On broken made up wings

A Dorman