I suppose what I desired was
for you to inspire me
to write pretty poems,
but instead I'm scribing blue
on a red heart,
how easily love bruises
when starved for warmth
I'd like to be your home again
and paint a verse of forestry,
where we can explore
the outer edges of us;
two be free
in unity
You rouse me,
even when the wind
chooses not to blow
sweet amities through my hair
Say, I still compel your soul
to sway,
in spite of the air being
so still
