Hold your tempest close
As the words come down
To your tiny, pink lips.
I hold the sentence a foot from my heart,
Swearing my love for you
In your dirt, where showers are guested
For your forgotten face, to the world.
My love owns gravity,
Placing dreams where once
Was mere stars,
As life spawns from the absent womb,
While strife leans free from the present tomb.
I swirl your heart, in my own.
You can clean,
You can brush
Your tears, aside
When the curtains come to collide
With all the petals you have fallen
Upon the ocean of your broken heart,
In the painting within your repaired frame.
Poverty is next to the dirt in your eyes,
Cleaned by my love, next to the rest
That falls upward, and then dies.