Love's lark is late

It's fitting that you find me
In this place of dark
It seems almost foretold that this final door would close
Before we could stand against the bitter lark
Of despair's frantic frolic into
The nothing of paralysis

This is our journey. You and I
Where late-hour realisations come after the journey's end
And I know
This was always going to be our tale
Where we live and laugh and love and cry
Away from the dimness in the other's eye.