Actually, darling, everything is beautiful. Including you. Especially you. Have you lost weight?

I am troubled today
I am beyond myself with the excitement of you
I wish you did not have to move your alabaster skin
Take me into your skin
What is it like...being you, love?
Why do our worlds collide ever so often
But never, not for a second , does time stop ?
In between two perfect seconds
In between such two perfect creatures
Why do we decorate the world?
Nobody can descry my soul from ours
Nobody can vanquish us from our garden
...the world is our garden
We decorate it like beautiful bronze statues gleaming in the sunlight
Frozen in the moonlight
Untouchable.
Romance me out of my oppulent world
From beyond the castle walls of my insanity
Let us flee into the night surrounded by ourselves
Let us leave these broze statues do be adorned in sweet contemptous silence
Let they be our single legacy for the gutter star-gazing world.
I pant at the very door of your consiousness,
My heart throbbing against the heavy shackles laced with rust
Which bind immortality within thyne hollow mirror;
And
though my bellowing resounds like shry gasps against your wings
and every pitch-black feather , every string
lingers in frigid await
the whole contraption would not move but for an eclipse,
the apocalise
the death and the impossibility of death of itself.
This you is unmovable, it partains to the mineral, the statuesque
And yet... and yet...
It vibes,
...I vibe, and vibe i do within you
And with me every frill of torn-out lace that was once my dress,
Every sparkle clinging desperately to the sickle-shoes,
Every beating eyelash which fraims these black tears from my eyes.
Alas! He turn his gaze upon my silfid corpse, lying
Dying
Staring at him
Pleading
On the chess-board tiles of this happy coincidence.
Won’t you let my blood pour over these tiles? Wouldn’t...
Your ego be satisfied with the aesthetics of the colours...
of the flow?
Pouring,
drenching every curtain high and low? Drenching your very hands,
the alabaster limbs, in this cold
stone-cold fluid vapor that embelishes sence and though;
how enraptured are thou by me? So very much so that, so not so and yet...
so...No... enthralled by the languid and rapacious hell
that we share. Let us flee into the abyss;
no one would ever fear our passion for our own artistically distorted ...seflessness