The Rift of Love

She possesses grace: such capturing spell. Fate would rift us;
And God would meld us. I first resisted, and felt the fool.
Something floated—magic; and something died Spirit. I was
A hostage, thrust with spears. She dined the prose, a healthy
Pain; but volts and lights infused a rift; and something
Fey—the stem of birds; and something grey, the song of
Owls. We dance, at such a distance, fully pink; and we sail
A thousand hertz, partly green. The sun is so beige; and tropic
Orange, a scented pearl; but such a rift, the fate of dreams;
And such a tear, a dying whale. We cry sightless; and chant
A blue river; but something cold, plagues the heart: a
Riddle kept silent; and nonetheless, an offered prayer; and
Nonetheless, a secret flare. The sun is so red; an active wave;
And scratch the soul, an active grave.