etymology of heartbreak

Almost is a word that smells like

Beethoven’s treble

Clefs, lyrical sigils

Dancing over candles that

Eventually forget the warmth of

Fire. The word holds me hostage in its

Grotesque embrace, addiction dripping from

Haunted eyes: tears, but not quite

Intricate enough to be considered sorrow.

Just tears that fill up

Kaleidoscopes, a vivid spectrum of the million shades between crimson and scarlet

Lingering on the fingertips of

Morality’s indifference. Desire goes

Nowhere, but stays everywhere all at

Once. If you taste

Penance on your tongue, don’t

Question the cicatrix it leaves

Running through your veins when you

Swallow it on the silver spoon. Moonlight will not soften

The echoed heartbeats of the ventricle

Unless the

Viscous regret strangling the forgotten

Willow trees relinquish. Almost is a blurred photograph, laced with

Xanthic pomegranates that fade when

You dream too much about the

Zenith of a benign necropolis.