It's a magnetic draw, a dove to a raven, feathers slowly, softly drift away. Reveal a secret hidden away beneath down and primary attention; a two toned argument, not winning on either side, the more they fight, the more everything cries. Dying in side, listening to a pulse that throbs insistently to remind me I am alive, even when the driver is distracted, the car continues to drive. A bright flash when feather brushes against feather, a tiny touch that means more than words can describe. My dove, my love, stay away from a raven, ink stains what it touches, and you are white, can't you comprehend. I am breaking and breaking but I continue to bend.
I wonder saint of love, who makes up the rules, for there are none, that can be abided by, you fool.