Like the body of a blue bird,
love is delicate
With every breath,
its anatomy is intricate.
Every word hangs in the treacherous balance
Every gesture is a sip from a glass chalice,
It is all an avalanche in the mountains ready to break
A desperate yearning I could perhaps never slake.
It rests on the pinpoint between pleasure and pain
And all falls upon us to choose where our hearts remain,
In one brief stroke, dreams and palaces may fall,
In one brief stroke, we could have it all.
Do you mind these lines that navigate these trenches?
Do you wish me to fill your map to its edges?
In this bloody war do you find my hands gentle to the touch?
In the storm do you find all that I am...too much?
A journey up to a perilous peak
Unconquered, labels one as weak.
The truest beauty in the wrong hands is easily destroyed
My dearest, let me reach you, and fill your heart's deepest void.
great work my dear