Perversions of blue

I saw the silhouette of a soldier
beneath an indigo moon,    
besieged by a prussian halo of sadness.    
I tasted the color of passion on my tongue    
and bathed in the warmth of his tears as they    
became mine.  
   
Chalybeous gems are a delicacy upon my cheeks    
and he craves the pallet of our madness,    
devouring the trails with hungry intent.    
In our desparation, sorrow is cerulean  
wetness upon silken pallor,    
claimed in a bed of sullen vows.  
   
Obsession and loneliness war within his heart.  
Purple and cicatricial, it beats in time  
to an endless symphony.  
When poetry flows from the depths of his soul,    
it lies abandoned upon an otherwise empty page    
and his compulsion drives him like a runaway train,  
straight through the core of his melancholy.  
   
We must neither name it nor speak of love,  
for love is too obscure to possess.  
A connection of souls is vast, unable  
to thwart a lover's lost kiss and I    
am savagely impaled by gentian perfidia.