He was not wrong,
When he said they'd sold their souls,
They are both trapped,
In a circle where there's no doors.
The game could go on,
The fame could wear out,
It's a beauty that doesn't age,
With the easy grace of wine.
She was not right,
When she thought the wait was over,
As each ruby drop slowly burned,
From tongue to senses.
He was standing right there,
Right at where they'd begun,
He has never moved, was never moved,
Or never moved beyond where she liked.
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar