Chanson d'amour de l'alouette

ah, my dearest of Romantics
your breath sweet upon my cheek
your head gentle upon my shoulder
as you tangle yourself in your dreams

o, sweetest of philosophers
your hand resting upon my arm
your eyes hooded and soft
flickering to meet mine when I stir

we are lost, we three
'twixt the turning of pages
and the susurrus of words
fading like diaphanous smoke in the candlelight glow

we are made captives of the hourglass
ephemeral and doubtful as snowflakes
both time gone and time to come
paying penance to the tick of the clock

but if I am lost with you both
then I am not as lost as I seem
and when I bleed, it is not blushing ichor
but your love I find riverlike in my veins

pouring outwards, rubicund tears
reminding me you promised me
a decade and a heartbeat ago
that I am (still) not alone
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