What binds us,
Has refused to separate us.
Even when our bones become like an Old mare’s.
Certainly, losing our love has never been visualized
because it is typically a nightmare.
Though in death,
Where the huge moon displays her depth.
We conspicuously display our unending love,
Even though, our veins lack blood as the ground lack cloves.
We signed till death do us part.
Still! In death, we still tread each other’s path.
This love binds us and even the miniature things testify.
Look yonder! See the sea! Trust it; it won’t diversify.
Our home;
Though now rusty and ancient more than Rome.
Is an abyss;
And measures our love as abysm.
There’s no spectator to see our spectacle;
Everything stands dry and dry like a blur spectrum.
But will this stop these desperate lovers?
Nay! Not even this ancientness
that depicts the opposite of being in the clover.