She would bow,
And I’ll raise her up.
She cannot disavow
The words we said before an altar,
To go on towards another place,
Another place I cannot conquer.
What of her heart?
What of the heart
That knows how to beat, only when
The birth of beauty starts,
Her cheeks flare upon my touch to her skin?
What of her heart,
What of the organ that shatters upon that touch?
She would begin to wander,
With wonderment to her face,
Forcing myself to follow
To where she needs to walk,
And see the world without love by my side,
For she is ten paces ahead,
Holding hands with her tears.
Her face, before an altar,
Her face, concealed behind a veil.
When I uncovered it to see,
I was forced to believe,
In her fear,
Resonating through gleaming tears,
A face unable to be stared upon,
A love I know not to give flowers to
Since those ten paces are ten miserable miles,
Ten places of Earthly Hell.