All There Is

They say that romance is dead,
but you'd never know it from the way we behave in this place,
like lovers in a race against time,
a poet who has finally found his rhyme.
And this line is mine
for but a second.

Then thoughts of you
drip through my tiny veins
to do more damage than I can manage
without repair.
Do you care?
It's a silly question, but I need to know the answer.

If romance is dead,
what is there instead,
feelings of dread and regret
that we subject ourselves to for momentary bliss?
No, I can't believe this.
I'd rather be misinformed and naive
than concede that this is all there is.

There must be something else.