No ruined garden to return to Already desolate site Your smile would rejuvenate, make glow Like the lunar halo tonight If that craft could rapture me Teleport to that tendriled fence Pretend your hair my hands run through Just to see your silhouette And proof of life in cold cloud breath 'neath gematric compassed moon What's greater, longing or relief If new ivy takes root Would you wake up Endymion If blue-hazel eyes keep veiled glory And brush the cobwebs from my face Move hands to pass eight-forty *from 2020. I'm being a hopeless romantic faggot tonight*