Results of a solo beach weekend part II

We are what we love
and what we hate.
Life's narrative defined in soul black nights
played on blues riffs
before reggae dawns.

Oh to always live
in the holy tension
before a first kiss
before the damnation
of slammed doors
wasted tears
hitting the ground
on the twang
of steel guitars.

Oh to die a little
every night in lovers arms
like a long, slow trumpet note.
Rapturous suicide
martyrdom of self
in the worship of another
lying among the flowers
of Elysian Field
on a single bed.

Life is lived
in these realities
awareness of blood coursing
and heartbreaking.
The rest is dream time.
Dark mirrors of reality
when music colors nothing
only shades the lines of gray earth.