Rosetta Stone
I'm writing my heart out clean tonight; my
Mask only read in your mummified veins;
I join your heart in its breaking's right—
I'd not meant you to be alone; these days.
I still grasp your dawn on me you made.
The hieroglyphics of your world
That never ciphered more a lovely soul—
The feminine Phoenix's winged image
By my heart and yours; though a crashed port—
Do we not still speak the same language
|