Sublime cleeche.

The inky black outline,

Silhouetted on orange skies,

Cléchéd, but beautiful,

Of loves Fleeting tries,

Feeling stifled surrounded,

In the bleak outline of fate,

For love to be torn apart,

Unaware if the hart can wait.

To tell again the time worn tale,

of lovers impracticaly met,

To drink the poision, to take the sword,

Of star crossed Romeo and Juliet,

Or of Cleopatra who seduced,

The venomous asp, if only to escape,

What happy futures the past dose set,

Of lifes vilest of rape,

But what of you and me my love,

For lovers is what we are,

Lovers crosed by facitious fate,

And place beaneath the star.