Liquid (Villanelle)

She longs to drown in liquid thrill;
To spin within colourless thread
With sharp cold taste, my fond lungs fill.

Our hearts entwined would oft distill
Unchanging ever flowing dread;
With sharp cold taste, my fond lungs fill.

I watch upon a foreign hill
My feet on frozen stones, are shred;
She longs to drown in liquid thrill.

Her dragonfly deep colours spill
Pale rainbows on the surface spread;
With sharp cold taste, my fond lungs fill.

Floating flowers cast in the chill
In words' remembrance, letters shed;
She longs to drown in liquid thrill.

No letters linger, water’s still,
Softly etched on heartbeats fled,
She longs to drown in liquid thrill;
With sharp cold taste, my fond lungs fill.