Tears of a Violin

Desire weeps from her strings,
Like the grief at the onset of a requiem.
Tears shatter into a thousand shards,
When mirrors stir without reflection.

She sings as the nightingale laments:
A tragedy of lovers who never meet.
Distances between them pushed further,
Where sadness imprints its feet.

The sky satiates with her yearning,
Shadows forsake their pursuit.
A clenched soul bursts on brimming.
Molten rivers infiltrate the street.

The rose knows her own petals,
And the face recognises it's skin.
Wind comprehends its own subtlety,
As she tastes her tears with a kiss.