Give me the austerity
of aches, of the matured
firmness of a promise.

I may burn myself out,
breaking my spirit, my bones.
From pain you had come,
to pain you will go.

Beheading of a poem
makes a nude, to eliminate
the spin of a moon.

A chilling pause
betrays the blue surrender.
I will wait at the edge
to receive my punishment.

You will keep my name alive
by crushing and distilling
the rose petals without
any bleed.

A fragrant cloud will
always hover around you.