The state, The waiting game Of your eyes upon the lane, Where our roads will cross, Where our fields shall know loss. As I see thee, I want to say That nothing in the world matters. Your beauty Is an image of my defeat. My arms are long As they hang. My tears wet roses That dry against their thorns. My grace Is a nothing. Your face Has called me to everything. I, upon my knees, Have given into pleas. Where does love say to go, When it no longer snows? When I no longer hang heavy With the weight of my state, I can bleed With a heart, that has no residence In me, For us.