They called it the fire of innocence,
The flames of two bounded souls.
And it was perfect.
I gazed at your face,
I saw the blaze, the firestorm,
I saw the anguish, the desire,
And I burnt, brightly.
Your words, my dear, nourished the spirit inside
That for long, yearned to abide.
We met and melt.
We fell and felt.
We loved and left.
They called it faith,
The destiny of two tortured phantoms.
And it was perfect.
I gazed at your eyes,
I saw the wind, the rain,
And I grew, endlessly.
Your words, my dear, watered the bloom inside,
That for long, wished to have died.
We were a sinking boat,
Heavier than broken stars,
We were a wrecked crate,
Carriers of a doomed end.
They called it bitterness,
The fortune of every being.
And it was perfect.
I gazed at your heart,
I saw the dread, the torture,
And I drowned, perfectly.
Your sight, my dear, extinguished the incentive inside,
That for long, had cried.
Slowly, gently, it died,
I died, you died,
We died.
They called it love,
The ache the two quiddities share.
And it was perfect.
I gazed at you,
I saw the demise, the casualty,
And I broke, happily.
Your warmth, my dear, had frozen the flames inside,
That for long, had tried.
