Deciduous leaves burn like Nero’s wilting garland,
Your reckless trees bow down to my partly outstretched hand;
It’s neck deep, retraction; why retaliate?
It’s for your breath; promises they’d desecrate,
Rome returns from beneath the night’s sand,
You and me will survey the time of our lives so grand;
The gladiator thrives,
Rinsing each of our eyes,
Ours is the heart that tries.
Have my swords coerced those inside vines enough to satisfy?
Tracing lines of sweaty love down your neck; you deny
It’s lingering, elation; why fornicate?
It’s for your flames; promises you’d try to hate,
A past touch will give you a surprise,
You and me serenading Nero’s low high;
The nervous beast breathes,
Your trees swaying their leaves,
While your soul sits and grieves.
