Couldn’t collide
I sensed your sunken eyes, your heavy breath and your tensed neck.  
I remember when we had met.  

Her sweat ran down your seven layers of skin, since some of them got cut in.  
I was a giant pillar, sleek and polished.  
Built from the dust and sand you saved  
For someone to lean on.
Her love was more than a pillar you used to adore.  
Her love came from aside and above. In the air,  
even sensed by the spirit of a young dove.  
You didn’t want to collide.  
But her pillar said, “let me decide”