Sapphirism

i press a palm to her cold marble sternum. the polished stone mirrors the moonlight, holding the beauty it can never possess. come daylight, her flesh will be flushed with vitality, the sepia hues filling in every fold of her skin. the night enveloping us is the throbbing heartbeat of the world, the crickets playing the violin to their lovers on balconies, leaves singing lullabies to the breeze, which carries it to the curtains, making them dance. her shadow flickers like a flame on the rustling fabric, like the flame at Rochester's bedside that set his room ablaze. the moon shivers and the curtains open into her face like a rose in full bloom. her eyes are self-illuminating stars. her lips glisten from our kiss. her breaths are shaky--and limited, i realise. her impermanence is washable chalk on the slate of the earth. one day, my hand, slow and sorrowful, would pass over the cold marble of her mausoleum, mourning the beauty that could not stay. her body, formerly animated, would