An Apology Is Only the Recognition of a Love for Doom

Anna, my cousin my spouse, I tell the world from every housetop: 

I am sorry for my cozenage. It was small of me and yet smaller 

still the failure to sufficiently sing the sting of your absence. 

A soaked wet blanket sky smothers my eyes. And I, like a grey day 

which greedily holds every raindrop, cannot weep. I ask for the grace 

your beauty sings. Forgive and ford the gulf separating you from me. 

Friendship brings laughter but is no laughing matter. The trust and time

invested makes us all miserly of kindness. End the exile and come home 

to these eyes. Speak so I may see you again. My Doom in every sense, a 

domain of light and articulated beauty, I beg to return. I cast these pearls 

on the run. Hoping they borrow fire from the Sun and find favor in your 

eyes, ebon(not blue).