Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history,

is the story of our love; a spiritual decree.

Penned onto the memory of my simple, fleeting life,

is the epic of our union, quite beautifully described.

I am stunned by the depth of your soul.

Shall I be forever mystified?

And this evening,

brazenly confetti’d up on a Hollywood freeway overpass,

I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart.

While my soul bleeds adoration in silence,

I wonder, “Is this loves crucifixion?

Is this how Mary felt in the garden?”

An answer is of no consequence,

for what I will remember long after I have died,

is the memory of your face, indelibly inscribed.