Juliet's Aubade

There is but one night left before you go
and swiftly step long hours until the dawn
with kisses pressed between us, frantic, slow
as if to rid our world of what’s beyond
the measured pacing of our twinnéd hearts
which dance in time to whispered song and slip
within our coffers; there to land athwart
as though the endless sea upon a ship
did spill its riches, drowning kings and all
earthly things that men may seek possession
of—baubles, toys, impressions alike fall
to sea’s unyielding grip without exception,
and we are water; endless; as the sea—
when pulled away, return always to me.