The sky was grey
the day we met
under the canopy
of autumn leaves
in the mist of
the coming winter.

You told me
sweet and beautiful
lies dipped in honey-
and I took them
as gospel truth.

But it was fine
because I had
my very own
recipe for such
sweet nothings.

We fed each other
nihilism and ecstacy
with our tongues
entwined in grape vines.

That grey sky
never did break
over our heads
day in, day out
even as night came.

But we never cared,
never once stopped
as the noose got tighter
around our hearts.

It was a love
born to die
as only
ours could.