We should just die in each other’s arms, now. It will never be like this again.
It’s already changing in ways we can’t even know or understand.
So perfect now, but it’s only like this because were innocent… until now.
It’s true, there is fate.
Our fate is to taste the perfect fruit of the garden, then fall from grace.
The storm has raged and seethed and sung
And rent the air and left undone
The knots that tie both time and tide
With niceties now cast aside (like pauper's clothes)
Bruised, spent and fragrant lovers
Linger rapt in sweet repose
Streetlight lamplit autumn coloured leaves
Rustle and huddle together
Scarlet cheeks shying away,
from the cool morning breeze's,
The skyline, streaked with cloud wisps,
awaits the hand of the sun,
to draw the signature of the day