Your heartbeat a luxury my mind aches to remember
Swollen fingertips, chapped lips
Drunk off the excess of expired love

Unrequited happiness leaves one with such a hollow loneliness
My candle of hope is burning to its wits end.
An essence so pure can soon enough become poison
When consumed by the wrong muse, true loves' abortion.

Solace itself can often be found in the pulse of your wrist,
a melancholy sound of copper and satin, mysterious kiss
of all that might happen if you question,"what if?"