Paper-thin, Worn In the impeding night. Your lips had strands of hair As violin strings To play this dirge, A lament before the kiss Upon the rock. Devotion, With the ocean Running from these eyes To my palms, In silent prayer. Steady me. Will you hold me? I was never the weight, While you were The anchor. I was a simple feather Burning of bristles, Worn at the tip. An entire length, As a smile that sits flat As a signature Upon a flaming horizon. I was someone who gave a circle of gold, with a name. Folded letter, Writing backwards With a quill to lock the past. Walking onward For the wound to heal, For the memories to be sealed Within the next of silent hearts.