Reverting inward

I am forever loving and forever growing cold lust hisses into the virulent gardens I've dwelt but her eyes laced in facades of ice and amber agonies defined the silky course of our peripheral loving. So forever, and how tender is this cold grasping me? nipping my jawline of mystic reverence she's growing old, and young and yet we flee (at times that relate to vacancy) towards thecenotaph hung so horribly upon the loathsome dreamer's heart.