A Portrait

I would feel your hands for twelve moons of my adult bloom.
You nourished my timid roots. Guarded my shoots from frost.
So how was I to pay the same kindness? How was I to protect you?
When they arrived with their shackles of law and administration.
I Couldn't stop our dog at night puncturing the hills
With the sound of two lovers being pulled apart.

That last Christmas we shared we should have raced out into the night far from smoke and concepts. Far to where the pines would shield us, our connection the only hearth we'd need, we'd have built a land without boundaries. Where a fallen cup once shattered could simply gather itself back up once more.

Be whole once more.

Instead we lived in our bubble until the hour. Until I pursued you, I pursued you across this earth, welcomed with open arms among your kin and spent three weeks a fugitive in a world where your fingers could melt the snow.

Conversation became something beyond beauty, it was weaved long into every night. I have seen love take many forms. You wrote this feeling in me like a symphony, that rings with chords and keys of safety, peace and home. How I long for its composer to return so I can tap into its tune once more, see that world once more. For now I content myself with the choirs of angels.

Who will buy my sweet red roses?
Who will buy that day for me?
I would treasure it,
My charm from all the memories that pierce my heart.

No matter if I should love again,
This feeling is in every fibre of my being.
It cannot be bought, cannot be lost,

It's yours.

It's yours.