Classic Poem

I am the blood
Streaming the veins of sweetness; sharp and sweet,
Beauty has pricked the live veins of my soul
And sucked all being in.

I am the air
Prowling the room of beauty, climbing her soft
Walls of surmise, her ceilings that close in.
She breathes me as her breath.

I am the death
Whose monument is beauty, and forever
Although I lie unshrouded in life's tomb,
She is my cenotaph.