Beloved

Your eyes sparkle in the moonlight
Your lips taste like sweet wine
Poured from a silver goblet
Your hair smells of the purest lavender
And your soft hands caress my cheek, my shoulder,
But this kind of love is a dream
Drizzled before the hearts of romantics
I was once such a romantic who believed
That love should perch daintily on its pedestal
Watching over smitten hearts to protect them
From the arbitrary effects of an ill-cast moon.
But, I, Beloved, have been made cynical
Over years of being told, “It couldn’t work.”
Though the journey pointed to growing love
That had no destination, that only crumbled
Like a house made of sand when prevailing winds
Blew it all away, and then, Beloved, I knew,
There would never be another.