Engraved on my soul

He appeared a stone, with eyes deeper than the ocean’s bottoms; emotionally departed as a deceased soul. Feeling his warmth from my touch he declared life; my love burning, a mere fountain of pronounced time…conscious of my existence only by the proof of his own; yet will he even appropriate moments, to grasp the farthest corners of my mind’s frame?

My remnants of life I cannot go unless the fingers of him and I intertwined, not ever parting him goodbye; his life remains the prize for my periods of strife. Worldly passions fictional, yet morbid cravings for him, sincere. Our macabre psyches, eccentric temperaments, deem us soulless; a world professing us dead. Yet the afterlife has already begun and there we survive thriving my love; watching them die in happiness as in misery we live. He polishes my sorrow, illuminating my darkness; choosing him over nothing at all"for he remains my only.

Blinding times, his eyes gape on my behalf; my returning sight only gives me view of him. His presence gives days purpose, makes hours worthy, and gives minutes reason; while the carvings of him on my soul bleed. The rising sun brings my soul to scream, as dusk hemorrhages my heart without him near. His breaths I gasp for, with wounded lungs only he can seal. The sanity I’ve lost in my years, waiting to just know this man, as he etches my senses to normalcy again.