a narrow bridge, joining two souls;
the heart which oscillates in serpentine marvel,
in symphony, and mine.
I cannot match again, his umbra of a soul.
A figure that entwined with my own,
a world of artifice.
Now lie broken and charred pieces of
Time flows, as clocks tick;
I'm but grit in the briny deep.
I wait for the prelude and my epiphany
sings, "here lies..." an epitaph marking two
birds but one flesh. Ageing acutely,
but damning the other's soul.