I see,
I know,
I feel,
I recognize your pain.

All that you attempt to hide
from the world is a gloriously
open book...for me.

For, you see, I live in that
same pain as well.

We are neighbors, you
and I, though you
don't seem to know it.

We share adjoining rooms
there...like bookends,
holding up the spined
volumes of our
injured, fragile
lives.

But no fear,
for what I've seen
and all I know..of you...
will never leave my
sight and will never
be discarded or
disclosed to others
who will never,
could never...
truly understand.

You mean more to me
than even I dare admit,
and you always inspire
worlds of thought,
as you have carved
yourself a unique
space in this tattered
heart....
and I will protect this
'gift' of you...

as long as I draw breath.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

He is the painter,
painting images of
desperate desire
and vistas of love
and secret knowledge,
upon her skin.

Each patient and
skillful brushstroke,
weaves obscure
and cryptic symbols
in subtle, vibrant
tones upon the
supple texture of
her curving form.

She is a leather bound
notebook,
swelling with promise
of verses and poems
yet to be birthed.

He is the quill,
his ink flowing
abundantly,
spilling fertile words...

filling her every page.






-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights