What
to give, a blanket of kisses, where said kisses are like candy? We give soul,
sweaters made of love, embroidered upon her lips. I’m want for dice, a needless
life, for her features are scribbled upon hotplates. I cry for two-headed coins,
her picture, her smile. Count the coils, my rope, my quilt; give to the point of
joy, ever to comfort pains. Such an axe for fear, to sew love, where distrust soared;
for I see her as bold, to select with grace, ever to give, to hold a future.
Its cupid’s arrow, pierced through hearts, a padlock for love. I follow
closely, to reach for far, a sleigh for two. My fruit and wound, a knife to
soul! I’m both alive and numb; for clumps of grass speak to rain, where tiles
have witnessed our terror. I irked a love, to spin a wheel, tipsy in our
nightmare. We need for cushion, a sofa to chat, for our song is dragging; and
more to come, a soothing sound, thunder to speak waves; for more the trees of
life, twisted in winds, a spark to sprinkle; but so many spiders, to spin a
web, a stream of moments torn; and thus, a maze, to test for substance, an
umbrella of teary eyes. So we promise more, to build amore, to value a given gift.
My fruit and star, a voice to calm! Ours is immortal, a timeless bond, a vault
of murals. We live it strongly, wall for wall, gliding upon zephyrs. Every
verse a chorus, a volcano of passions, a voyage between souls; and here we
dine, wheel for wheel, and wounds to love.
