Lovesong

The ruins on the hilltop from a fairytale
Will carry the dark fragrance of your innocence
When the first snow of the season
Settles softly on my fluttering eyelashes.

It is then that I will step into the pages
Of the book lying open on that old table
To clutch your clanking fingers tight into mine.

The snow will then drop down like sparking diamonds
And my blood embedded into each flake, like rubies.

(Sir Rushdie, a simile is from your Midnight's Children. Pardon me!)