My heart.

Oh my love, down there below,
A scent of roses here, lost gold,
The thoughts I held were falsities,
Though truth does float in a peculiar way
around your mouth, around your eyes,
A river of those who've come before.

I revel in your simple sense of purity,
Though spirits play beneath,  he knows,
And lets it go for higher ground.
The flood destroys in smaller strokes,
Endure instead, a salient refuge,
I could but burn with pride or desire.

Over thoughts, over churning thoughts,
Finished, spectacular, a work of art.
Would you come again? I lived a dream,
Forgot how to breathe and felt you arrive,
The lie was beautiful, sad and true,
A seed, the past, it scorns me anew.

Still, drenched in circumstance,
Pools filled with hope, not regret,
Tired words played out through your lips,
Down the stream of consciousness,
You swell at my touch, shrink from my love,
Left to gather dust, vanquished, hand in glove.

Fitting at times, a sheathe, nothing more,
And I play the part to encompass your
listless heart, waiting for the slip,
A fissure to invite the monumental shift,
The changing of the guard, zeal so strong,
It could be nothing but a righted wrong.

The End

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