Love's Last Heartbeat

In the moorlands of desires, I've forever sung choruses of fertile faith, amidst the flock of bleeding birds, sprinkling heartbeats on lush olive herbs, In the dream of retracing their scintillating season of beachy spring. 'Hope' had always been a pearlescent paste of turmeric temperance for the harp humming within my heart and swamping upon honeyed valleys, like those magical bees which buzz in hymnal ballads, as messengers of life. But, standing under the Camellia tree, I hideously wish upon the paradises of half sculptured truths and quest for your merlot shadow, to ask, what if this were the last pulse that you felt along my arteries, would you declare those peridot letters of the fondness that we shared as a truth never left as an unseen melody? When weeping roses melt in the pillow of cranberry tears, your silhouette still simmers as a lighthouse through the mercuric fog of anxiety and I reminisce those dwindling daylights when you made me stroll in a mine of asteroids, under the lemonade haze of raspberry tart skies, when our skin melted along the arcs of white sands as we whispered secrets about our future. Tonight, blanketed in frostbit ebony rays of the winter moon, when poetry is the last sapling yearning to feel the pewter kiss of diamond droplets, I am questioning your eyes, in this final life, would you ever be soulfully mine? I've wandered with werifesteria, in your mahogany psalms of white topaz, lilac daisies and ambre dandelions, smeared with scents from periwinkle to burgundy, but these hoaxed hydrangea coffins of our unheard fate have always stung my blushed zeal, like a sombre dragonfly's curse. Perhaps, forevermore I'll find myself, scorched by the bonfires of forget-me-nots, swathing my soul in cold coffee dusks and climbing silver ladder towards the crossroads in front of the heaven. As a moth addicted to jet-ink flames, I now slither in smoked cocoon, rising in smog above the sun, asking those midnight meadows, if their barren soils would reincarnate me as an angelic sakura in their last prelude. Would I be remembered as the princess of your amethyst twilights and ruby renascence in the last Au Revoir? I would have skipped the wingbeats of heaven and plunge from their plum sunsets to cradle my rouge heart in your golden arms, for, I wanted to love you beyond death; but if only you ever echoed the crimson chords of 'I Love You' across the marble mausoleum of my soul.