I will finish this poem beforeI run out of breath, this is
my testament to you.

INHALE--
You are perfection spread out
on a piece of paper, you enjoy life,
you enjoy the stars,
and the clouds,
and rainbows,
though we don't see a lot of them
these days.
But why? Why the stars? Why the clouds?
(Wait.)

INHALE--
Yes, only they are befitting.

Oh but don't get me wrong,
I did love you once.

I am sorry that
I took another breath.

---

Once again, indentations screwed, head down to my lj to see proper indentations.