It was so beautiful, last night
when they strolled near the lake
she told him, 'i love you'
and meaning it, true.
he believed her and smiled
meekly, weakly. their time
froze with that smile- and at
that moment, they died
they could slide
on the clear hyaline surface
called memory:
though they were both
cold, and quivering,
her paling lips muttered
his name, and in her
she kept alive, between them,
the fire unwavering, in the dark-
between the hollow of their souls
alarmed by kisses,
the moon shone- perhaps
it didn't. but it did not matter.
for they are young.
she toasted to the moon
her desperate absinth
of fading time- wasted,
in pain, in confusion, in which
she grew older, fainter, old
enough to see life as luminous now.
could shed tears still
for silly things,and laugh
occasionally.
higher or lower, or more
irredeemable, for her
as long as she has
his warmth in her hands,
oh they could still dream on.
for they are young.