An End's Other Ending

Love is strong as death is dead
cold, Rossetti pasta --no basil here
long fast gone
one more song is sung
O, Christina, Be our eyes and lips
fixed upon the grass;
then our minds can wilt and meld
into puddles and piles of paint
where your words dig in,
and smother
casting choking out a nil.
I see your thoughts now,
but the color's
all wrong.
I thought in other shades
not shown.
I guess
I must
have thought
it all wrong.