Not Romeo and Juliet (this is not a love song)

This was the time for self and self
Two, At one. Now. 
We met, we wooed and made exchange of vow
Knowing the apothecary's poisonous vial of absence
Would bring it to a burning end.

Not for us no syphallitic silences
The drawn out breath of a cancerous lung
Spilling odorous waste from a poppy cough.
Thy drugs are quick.

But a memory of a moment
Perfectly imperfect
Two.
At one.
Then.