Hungry Hearts (Or, The Hymns for the Blank Spaces in Me and You, part 1)

There were lilies made of glass
and light
and air.
The pretty little irises
(in the eyes, in the ground)
shook and trembled to some rhythm
that I think only you knew.
i tremble, now, at the elegance.
There could be no distinction between
'He said' and 'She said',
instead, they came together, woven into
harmonized chaos.
Beautiful oxymorons.
And when the curtain fell, and
the lamps extinguished, we
both knew
there would be nothing left
of the the litter that was the discarded scripts.
The stage directions were mumbled and
incoherent,
reeking of escape, even on
the cracked pages.
We were lost in the rage, alcoholic pores bleeding,
forgive me, my dear, for the marks I left, seen and unseen,
the words I wrote, the letters that haveave
faded and crackled with time.
My fingertips were left to explores forgotten voices of their own accord,
the echos of which still reverberate through these halls
of warped glass, spiderweb cracks where
promises still hide, both lost, forgotten, broken.
Right next to the hungry hearts.