There is a lady that fills a black dress
on the mountains of my heart.
My tongue edges to move and confess
yearnings of an unbroken start.
Life, the fragile game, a reprise,
the pages flood my dreams with tears.
Sipping stories of love's infant demise
has me choking on bittersweet years.
I would gladly swallow if you choose,
my love, this pear of anguish.
Life is a game we cannot really lose
since winning is a broken wish.