Love is Pink in a Red Glass Vase

Cassiopeia blinked as I pointed up at the sky.
I had to point it out to her before it faded away,
Like so many other things.
She giggled, not understanding bohemian dreams.

Love is pink but always
Held in a red glass vase,
Looking like the richest of blood.
The warm centre is obliterated by it.

Beauty, Truth, Love.
She has beauty.
She tells naught but the truth.
Why can’t I love her?

Beautiful blue stares back at me,
Alight with life and love.
What bohemian am I?
I lie to her every day.

Is she even mine?
Doubting, I stare back at her.
She looks just like her mother.
She has my eyes.

I kill her all the same.
Love is pink in a red glass vase.
Beauty, Truth, Love.