oh sweetheart, my sweetheart

  my lovely; my darling

     in my heart 

     there are parts 

that will always belong to you.

your sweet heart, my dear heart

    has courage, says the poet

        so you hold to your red heart

             and your love drips like ink

             on the marbled white sink

streaking it with love that has never quite vanished.

your eyes pleading, so softly

   lips parted, you hold your scarlet

          it is as light as a feather

          and it hardly will weather

the storm i'm afraid i will bring.

you broke me like glass

    and i plucked your heart like a raspberry

         we were young and on fire 

         no idea of desire 

              no idea we would burn 

into ash. into ruin.

but your eyes are like embers

    the honeyed golden flames

         and i miss them; i do

         if only you knew  

               that your fingers are warm 

and they tell me to "believe."

                       i wish i could believe.

                 your laughter gleams like pearls and i wish

           so fervently

     that i could do this. 

but i wish upon cold stars and

i know that i cannot.

my heart is dusty brick

   reddened by the slaps and wounds

        faded by the arid sun 

        when all the rest had loved was fun

              there was so much more i wanted

                   so much love i had to give

and even now, it always comes back to you.

i ache for you in ways

   that i spent months trying to erase

        climbing the spiraling tower steps

            up to the tower

            that locked all the hours

i spent trying to forget your love.

but here we stand today

     and our fingers are pressed against the glass

           the mist of our breathing pales 

           the creamy billowing sails 

and the ocean's green is warm.

your fingers run through my hair and 

    i close my eyes and let them

         in sleepy iridescence 

             your touch runs down my spine

             drawing silvery lines

and your lips are chapped but gentle.

and there's so much i wish i could do

    to leave the shimmering dream

         and openly love your eyes;

         our path glows with fireflies

but it's lost in morning haze.

i wish i could brush my fingers against your cheek

    stamp drowsy kisses to your neck

          find that crook that pulses your heart

                 and touch my fingers to your waist

                 to find the world when it was chaste

and your lips could paint your heart as fresh as day.

i want to cradle the shyness in your gaze

    and let the sun come streaming through

          the wooden slats of golden light

                and hear the rasping of a spoon

                dipped in sugar, filled the room

i want to stay with you to keep you safe and sound.

because you're still innocent where i am no longer

    because your eyes are full of righteous

             so your hands are cupped with daisies 

                   and i think you're just too good

                   a boy so misunderstood

because, sometimes, you really are too sweet for this world.

and i wish i could be your one,

    and i wish i could be all you want

          and i wish i could never leave you

             and that everything gold could stay

             when dawn goes down to day

but you are two-hundred and forty three days too late,

and our glittering dreams are ground into fine dust,

so i cannot be your one.

(but dreams will always yearn.)