Stained love

Therefore neither I am your past, nor future, nor present.
I am nothing.
No one.
Nothing.
And how sniding as it prevails, I reside in your everything.
What an agonizing sweetness,
A pining yet flamed tenderness!

Would you ancore me, my little suave-bird,
Veiling me under your carnal instincts?
Reminisce me in your crumpled sheets,
Folded arms, or in yearning breath?
Would you haul for me in the darkest hour,
Only to trace to it as pre-occupied?

Yes love! My honey-bear!
That is what I have desired,
For your primal sense to be imprisoned.

Would you not look at the mirror,
Wrapping your arms around her waist,
Cohered in her nap,
Only to find my shadow, lingered, smiling at you1
Yes dearest, my mon-cher
I'll be that shadow
In your happiness,
In your sadness,
Occupying your lonely emptiness.

We promised not to love each other
Nonetheless, we are stained of love.
Proven guilty for each other,
I will rejoice being a sinner of yours,
I will be convicted for your loneliness,
And I will behold for this everlasting emptiness.

So merriment in what I have left, my lovely-beast
And agonize this thorny-mellowness through and thoroughly.
Succumb into this tender-solidarity
And emerge into the deep slumber
Of the nothingness,
Into no one,
With everything.

All the contents are mine, until it's mentioned