reds and blacks

to master them,
i am not sure if i ever could
but my ink drips
for these two alone.
for love is all there is
and for death is all there is.
the clock strikes twelve,
a new love
waiting to be
a week old
or a month
or a decade
or until the final strike.
the clock strikes twelve,
a new death
a week old,
a month old
a ten year old
all surrendering
to the final strike.
fear filled,
fearful
of both
i live.
amusing how
love is all i fear
but all i crave
and death is all i crave
but all i fear.
the arrival of death
before i let my love known
or a dilatory death
after my love gets known
but not understood.
ends forlorn either way
for love dies
is what they say.
but love,
i'd love it
if you accompany me
to death.
accompany me
to yourself
and we'll linger here
in the blacks and reds
till love loves
and death dies.