Laid bare,
Ripped open
By the sheer joy
We allowed ourselves to share,
I sensed then
This had to be the beginning
Of the end of everything.

For all I have left for you now
My love,
Is my steady heart,
My humble happiness.

And so, ****** and blessed
In equal measure,
Such is the cycle of romance,
Or so it seems…

Capricious, frail
And yet, at times, so wondrous
And all encompassing.

Yet now I can see so clearly
How, when the rose first opens,
Its thorny stock stiff and fit to burst,
Such divine and fevered feelings
Are released in a perfumed crescendo
That, from that day on,
Can never be quite as sweet again.

Maybe better this though
Than fidelity?
Some persistent fervour
That, even in its noble rawness
And good intent,
The world can spoil so easily…
And one day, no doubt,
Would have only succeeded
In choking itself.

When it comes to passion,
We might as well be beasts, it seems.
Though, trust me,
I would not have believed it to be so then.

But Oh, to have lived such a dream
And cruelly to still be here now,
Full bloodied,
Feeling the warmth of the sun
When you are not.

So now it has to be farewell!

The truth is I will never stop loving you
And am therefore irretrievably lost…
And that, my darling,
Even in death,
Has no matter of reason within it
I can be forgiven for.