if sadness were to speak of my beauty

if sadness were to speak of my beauty,
i wish for you to see me,
to pore through me.

it is only through my sadness -
my silent lilies sleeping in the waters of my decay,
that you will come to me.

if sadness were to speak of my beauty,
would you come nearer - finally,
as though my eyes that live in springs of pain carry you?

i do not wish for you to bare yourself in silent mourning,
even with me, even with my heart beside yours -
it will still be the death for both of us.

our story flows in the dead of the night,
opening only when blackness spreads
like an everlasting roof of secrets.

or if sadness were to speak of my beauty,
perhaps then i share my death with no one.
not even with you.