Living in a room on the water

In a crimson room, with walls made of memory and water rising to our knees, I dreamed of you… Our dresses; white, but our hands; drenched in sin. One lay upon the bed, the other lost in the flood, and I, between waking and madness, began the dance of death. I raised the knife; not to kill you, but to cut the rope that bound my soul to the past… Yet in the mirror of this water, you are still dancing, just as you were, just as you never left.