---

I can taste your tears
when my lips brush the corners of your smile.

It's as if tragedy had gently laid her hand on your forehead
weary with Victorian morals to quell your fever.

I wish I could improve your morale,
but society picked up our old love story,
blew the dust off the cover, and left it where it lay,
forgetting chivalry in the attics of our daydreams.

We have slept there together many a night;
our fingers still intertwined,
though I struggle to feel the bones
underneath your exhausted skin.

There are days where the pages
become so swollen with my aspirations
I wonder if we will burst into flame,
but there will be no rebirth for us when I perish
because Eternity forgot to inscribe my name on her doorstep,
so all I can do is wait for you to come to.