Much I'd missed being- a sandgrain on the beach;
Kissed by the moonlight yet so sorely ditched
Not so affectionate much less a care
As to how far my life will fare.
Restive. Now. As, I catch my breath
Pondering the queers of, life and death
What joy I used to have within; the realm of their silhouettes
Now in retrospect, era plenus luna

Truth is, most honeymoon end up not only looking, but tasting like dry, mouldy biscuit.