It was an object of futility to remain unloved,
The only emotion worthy of our otherwise meaningless existence,
Forced with a first kiss, intimacy then adoration,
Beauty lying in the speculation,
Taunting us with it's ugly judgement,
The promise of a world that was written as unmoving,
A moment established on deciept
It was unexisting and were fools.

The allure of which we were all captivated by,
Was not the moment we shared, the touch, the ecstasy,
But the weightless instant after,
The silence we were left with when everything fell,
When the naivety had thawed under the heat of passion,
And we were left only with ourselves,
Because after all, we would die,
And we would die and decay alone,
With only our desolate last moment to comprehend, to reason existence.