There will come a day, as days come, it will
When all our instruments will cease to exist.
Our sights, thoughts, and hearts, will no longer fill
With all these tangible things in this earthly mist.
A dream? No. We are here for a short while.
We stand upon this rock, cast off through space;
Stowaways aboard, two thieves in exile.
Just awhile, here: to hear, feel, touch, smell, taste.
I know her carbon cocktail…our first date;
Her gooey orb’s canvas, my silhouette.
Were we to die, have it like at Pompey:
Two preserved lovers frozen by heat, set.
She held my hand, listened, kissed my wet lips.
This strange dream, a-day, a-sleep, in a wink.
NOTE: First photograph: Portrait of Terentius Neo, Terentius Neo and his wife. https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q3399457
Second photograph: Image from Pompey, 79 A.D. after Mount Vesuvius catastrophe. https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1GCEV_en&biw=1097&bih=546&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=44rVXKeSLMep_Qb8hpjoCw&q=pompeii+79+AD+images+victims&oq=pompeii+79+AD+images+victims&gs_l=img.3…80898.82727..82889…0.0..0.73.515.8……1….1..gws-wiz-img._gTCkDMbfQw#imgrc=jZg_JobW9zfCXM: