Would Love Breathe Forever?
Sometimes, when
your sparkling spirit
waltzes with me
to the perfumed
periwinkle grooves
of saffron breezes,
I'm lost in a forever gaze,
within those
flickering ferns
of a nascent nightmare,
where I ain't any
velvet-purple orchid,
which gets saved in
every mellifluous
moment by the
sacrosanct touch of your
sempiternal fingertips.
I fear, what if I were a
translucent roseate,
while lilac lips
not fully stained with
crimson syllables
of poetic affection,
would you still
drape my soul in
succulent chartreuse
sepals of your
silken embrace?
What if my skin
were an artisan's
flawed gold-fabric,
would you trace
kohl runes in my
imperfect veins,
or cherish the
warmth of my cosy
cherry- embroideries
laced with floral
brocades of our
dawning dreams?
Will you still
carve sunset's
soft tapestries
on my archaic
terracota-pages,
and hue a hyacinth-
harmony of harp,
upon my moon-
dyed soul,
if ever our love's
scarlet star forgets
to twinkle in
verbena verses
carved along the
wisteria of midnight?
I wonder if,
our heartbeats
will melt in
sanguine autumn
rays of afterlife,
when our souls
are locked in
winter's frosty beams
yet evanescent
in glossy lakes
of butterfly-serenades,
sung by summery
elixir of spring.
What if my heart
had lost its
sunburst soulful
similes stretching
across platinum psalms
and engraved these
marine metaphors
as immortal wrinkles
in the dying
leaflets of iced
cyan hours?
What if I were a
forsaken breath
of poesy?
Would you still
sequin the
scarlet letters
of stelliform - 'Hiya'
with silky cream-
pearls of your
lazuline eyes,
would you still love me,
if I weren't a poet?
So, when the
gossamer glass
of blue crescent
has broken,
please reminisce
those unspoken
ruby rhymes
within amaranthine
aroma of poetry,
sewn with solivagant
threads of invisible
illustrations along
those sandalwood
shorelines, where,
I would've been
caged by the
blackbirds of
terrestrial time.
Evermore, I will
still cherish
our serendipitous
eden in sun's
amber canopies,
wishing you to be
my venus-glazed
muse for eternity,
even when the
seraphic satan,
looking so pure,
has erased my
silhouette from life,
within a shimmering
death's kiss,
alzheimer's reaper
has thawed upon
vintage verses
and parched phrases
have breathed
in their last belief.
"Would love still breathe, when 'You and I' are lost in waves of woe, exhuming regretful lifelines?"
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