You are just a stone's throw away a shadow stealing across the winter of your skin, as your eyes fix themselves upon a treasure that is far beyond your mortal reach "But I never give up Do I?", you say as the yellow bulbs flicker across the ridges of your face and we make promises while sitting in a car at the edge of the world.
You are the calm before the storm as the dark blue of the twilight watches over the waves and we continue to seek treasure amidst the sands before the ocean comes to take its rightful share and sweeps away all our desires.
So when you are gone, and they ask me about you I couldn't tell them what you looked like, I'd only know that you were a lot like hope drawing me out from the depths of despair you were the first flower that heralds the dawn of spring the brightest meteor that fell from a sky littered with stars.
I always had this perception that the best way to end any poetry was grief and death, that the metaphors hiding behind those soft coloured flowers on grave just exhibited remorse and regret, those eulogies on funerals were just a poetic lie and the unfinished poetry lying dead on the casket was just an adjective of ache.