They both wear veils, symbols that
We have surpassed this mortal toil,
Protecting themselves from either
Others or another.
Cotton lips send intangible
Messages, or merely seek to
Devour the soul that neither of them has.
Oh, I cannot stop but weep at this eternity:
This shroud of Turin both don,
Ascended to heavenly state,
The Lovers have found a true home.
Its setting is sparse,
Colors separated by architecture
As to hold purity: Nothing shall intertwine.
And so they press coffin-gowns closer,
Feeling the faint gasp of affection,
Knowing they have surpassed
Their mortal coil.