Tis my words i say,
that dost there be another whom is better suited for thy hearts passions? but thou?
whom best suited to sit and watch thy sunset
but thy beauty to which thine eyes have but fallen upon?
as i kiss thy tender cheek
dost thy feeling rush and heat tine own?
yes.
but dost thy know what thine heart of mine shoutith to the world
as thy turn to leave?
as i take thy fatal steps toward thine own passion,
the remembrance of warmth that comes from ye,
is what lets my heart in thine breast still beat
with the strength of a warriors drum.
thine eyebrows curl in
as i turn to leave thee at thy home,
yet i do not let ye see this.
it is of sorrow that i must wait to hold ye again.
i dost want ye to see it or bare it,
thy to precious and pure to bare such heavy loads.
only as thine eyes fall upon you again,
do i finally breathe....