The poem she became;

Six feet deep, but not in grief It's love, not loss, not pain, That took my breath, No coffin, no flowers, But she, dove in me Like it's the end of the World. Make my frozen heart, Beating as new. she indulge me, And Let me surge deep Into where young Hearts grew wild and New. Frost flower, coiled up With warm hug of Hers. six feet deep In her love, Her love runs wild in Every vein of Mine. It wasn't allure, But the stillness that Single glance, When our eyes met, And the universe already Confessed with that Aura of the hush of love In the air. She wasn't the chapter in my Story, She is the ink, The breath, The heartbeat behind every Line and yes, She is the poem which I Never intend to stop Writing and One I'm born to roll the Nib of pen Between every Breath of mine. Glased breaths shared, The world fell quiet And our hearts dared. Love didn't knock At my threshold; It bloomed, Quietly, Where she touched me Intangible. She wasn't the end of my poem, She's the beginning;