Two paths chance crossed and both locked eye,
their roads became forged and intertwined.
Love was chance; chance to deny.
The rigid feeling was silken lined.
Lovelessness given time to bloom,
Flower fed with beauty red.
Living man buried in a tomb,
and yet blind to skeletal dead.
With smiles of joy and happiness coated,
slow to live, slow in rotting.
Beating in her chest ever bloated,
Filled with love constricting; besotting.
Warm, then soft, cold, now rigid,
understood finally the floral doom.
With eyes that stung and spirit livid,
Glistening viewed the dying moon.
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