It starts with us. Us sitting side by side on a moonlit ledge; You taste strawberries aggressively The fruit bears all your anger, Our dinner met with wine and eyes that stare At everything below- But not each other. A sliver of the stars beneath my skin Like glass; It keeps the thoughts of you and me Intact. In fact, I think the damn stars knew Before we came That there would be no sunrise When we left this ledge. And there is no way down In which you're mine, And I am yours. So raise a toast, my dear; It ends with us.