A sad little poem

The roses are dead,
the violets are too,
our kisses are spectral,
but I still love you.

A sad little poem,
for a sad little girl.
She who's heart knows no bounds,
as I raise my glass of milk and alcohol,
wash the sweet, bitter, slight burning
down my smoke-wracked throat.

Here's one for the happiness, love,
that we'll feel one day.
Another for the trust in you, in me,
even in times so hard.
One more for the love I give,
and again for yours, my love.

I stood outside and watched the moon,
it didn't go anywhere, like I expected,
it just shone a little brighter,
so did your star.

Here, hold this, it's my heart,
be careful with it, cause like a cliche,
it's so fragile.
You know, there's only so many times,
I can fix the damned thing
and I keep breaking it, so here you go.

Hold it tight to your breast,
nestle it gently on a chain
around your slender neck.
One day, when I pepper your
throat with tender kisses,
I'll remember it's there
and I'll stop and smile.

I'll whisper my love for you,
you'll laugh and tell me you know.

Here's for the happiness,
that's always going to be.

And here's to the sadness,
of the places inbetween.