Not Crimsoned Red, Soured in Dread!

Blue as the heart that, softened, bleeds
My love is the wine, cold, I drink
And from her veins, hot, my mind concedes
To Her and Her alone, fear, my heart is linked
For in her veins, stirred, of redest red
And in her heart, shallow, of bluest blue,
There lies the death, around us, on us both
A pain our love no other chord can strike
My heart, her icon, bereft of iconicity, a ‘classicized’ dead
Heart! Blue, not crimson red, soured in dread!