Malady of the Flowers

My amorous Dawn,
pause with me for a little moment,
here,
beside the sick flowers,
salacious Dawn,
why must you be taciturn now?

Brooding upon the darkness,
all the while, as the morning air
congeals around the colors of
God's eye, Dawn are you with me still?
I would that your threadbare love,
rival the world aflame.

Along the cottage streets where harlots
reign, glancing come-hither behind
the red curtains, billowy
with the rhythm of ancient blood,
Dawn, will you not rest with me
here, alongside my bitter heart?

Now Dawn, iridescent, resplendent
in the rosy clasp of Helius,
can you sense malady of the flowers?
Transcendent in your lost eyes, I falter
in the hollowness of reason,
and the ambrosia of time.