Black and white is the scene still

Black And White Is The Scene,
Still Suffocated By A Wet, Velvet Screen,
Watched By Two Lovers, Each A Teen,
Both Eager For The Gorgeous Rising Sun Scene.

They’re Waiting For The Sun To Repaint The Picture,
Tightly Are His Arms Holding Her,
Fully Knowing That She’s His Cure,
For All His War And Anger.
They’re Waiting For The Sun To Reveal Its Sherbert Eye,
Upon The Breast Of The Horizon Where It Will Lie,
She Turns Around, Their Chests Now Tightly Embraced,
Both Standing In The Mouth Of A Cove Where Darkness Is Encased.
Their Hearts Beating Together, Singing The Lullaby Of Love,
It’s Tune Being Danced To By The Ocean’s Waves And Sky’s Dove.
Her Glistening Hair Sweeping Her Shoulders With The Hands Of The Wind,
Eyes Cradling The Fire Of Love They Know Cannot End.
Their Lips Pull Closer, Until Only An Atmosphere Of Intensity Exists,
The World Fractured As Time Twists.
Until Finally, The Ember Of Her Lips Splashes Upon The Lumber Of His,
Igniting In That Plain Portrait A Frictionate Pyre Of Passion.
As The Pyre Pulls Upon The Rope Of The Air,
The Eye Of The Sun Rises Fair,
Seeking The Spectacle Of Romance,
To Which Its Children Dance,
In The Sun,
Was Her Defining Smile Shown,
A Never Before Seen Art,
That’s Brought Peace To His Raging, War-Torn Heart.
Ethan Sanders