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Would I choose to live in a world
Where your breath was exhausted
Your rare flowering blood, wasted
Poured out on the branch of random chance?
Because otherwise, I am choosing that world
Where hope of you never bloomed; no, never grew
At all, within the heart of me, nor put down roots
From wells hidden the more common sighted man.
Never the peace or light which touched, rained me
Down, like sparks from a bejeweled sun's bursting
All my days since you came count as only a single day
And shooting stars have sighed my fountain's waters.
Having star crossed your lover's soul into every flaming
Implosive universe; the sounds of angels stirring at dew break
Of day; and since you have set your mark upon this beggar's world
I could never leave until the very last star
That you had ever looked upon, only once
As your soul's most disparate, dying wish
Had blinked itself out, in oblivion's expanding night
As if darkness itself had shut it's single, cavernous eye
Only after hope had extinguished to cold eternity
The final ashes of that last spark:
Original fuse of Creation, still smoldering
Within the merciful black pinion of your eye.
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