Senses Dying

I fell in love with a blackboard
and the beauty etched upon it's surface.
(A shallow love, indeed: to only love what is written and to never understand.)
But my hands can never touch it, never,
for it's texture makes me sick.

I fell in love with a train,
and all of that thrill and wind and speed.
(A dangerous love, please: to only love a fleeting feeling, the never calm.)
But that scent is so appalling, crawling
upon my knees to escape it's grasp.

I fell in love with a princess,
and her eyes, stance, and breasts.
(A quick love, sick: Her hands seemed to bandage my heart so nimbly.)
But my ears are bleeding, always pleading,
at the sound of her treacherous voice.

I fell in love with a peasant,
his smile, his heart, and his arms.
(A beating love, fleeting: His face tear stained with stress.)
But he had no time for me, no dime
in his pocket could feed me.

I was alone. Never quite in love enough.
The polymer casing on my blood seemed to break.
The walls had yet to rise with the celibate gathering.
Take away a lifetime and give away a second.