Elysium We Made

Your words drape around my warped lines,
Like warm blankets on a cold December night
As every inch of me refuses to request refuge
From the fickle future, penance for the past,
The inevitable sorrow of a misplaced today.
But my sly fingertips tip-toe to your gate,
For a moment of calm in the Realm of Hades
Not to wait for the day of judgement, my love
But hiatus, the slumber of simply being.
And in that slumber, the sentient dream
I see us curled up, pitter patter on the pane,
Yours lips read the book I’ve lived a hundred times
Beside golden crackles the same December night.
And even as you utter the calamitous segue
My chest feels not anxiety, but a homely comfort
For in the story I’ve lived a hundred times before,
The verses of its epilogue, I know will be okay.
You’re here to tell me it will all be okay.
I dream not of dignified strolls in paradise,
For where you are, we make our own Elysium.
I fear not an eternity in the Mourning Fields,
For the bud I nurture blooms with adoration in return
And I know not where Purgatory, or what it is,
I know not if I might dream or lie alone in oblivion.
You know I’m not one for clichés, my love
But if there be an Afterlife, I shall lay peacefully,
Your memory draped around my warped lines.

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