But you and i, we
said how different we’d be,
and in the night dark
mind of crushed innocence
we would build our fountains still.

We would capture all
the melting molten liquid
of lost emotion
imprisoned in the morass
of sweat, tears and urine flow.

We were to be the
living monument of love,
yet we mark the grave
self-conscious attitudes left
bereft of everything.