Darling, dearest,
I promise to protect you,
If blackbirds come to peck out your eyes,
If locks of brazen sawdust twist in the night.
Whispering harshly,
“Don’t call me that.”
Painting utterances drenched in ebony,
Plastered with ink that drip heavy, like rain.

Darling, honest,
I promise to protect you,
When ocean waves that crack and break,
Laced with porcelain fingers that can only reach,
Drowned in a soft voice as green as a meadow,
Littered with daisies that politely smile,
And sweetly sing,
“Don’t call me that.”

Darling, listen,
I promise to protect you,
As sweet pink peaches blossom and ripen,
While white parachutes sail on the horizon,
Delivering a message,
“Don’t call me that.”
Repeat skeletons with pretty green rings,
Around their fingers and their eyes.

Darling, lovely,
I promise to protect you,
I’ll run with an easel in my heart,
That can paint the sky blue when,
You fall apart.
Que sera sera, my purple love,
But, please,
“Don’t call me that.”

Darling, mine,
I promise to protect you,
With deaf words I’d never want to know,
Promises I won’t speak, but only show,
Lingering, ephemeral, like new fallen snow,
Prim, pristine, perfect,
But, I’ll shake the snow globe for you,
Forevermore.