I’d like to make it clear
that of all the voices in my ear,
yours is the only one I hear.

I am blessed by your existence,
much like the rest of the world
and those privileged to know you,
my muse.

You are porcelain among the glass;
precious cargo, tattooed
“Fragile” in all ways - and
I’d like to make it clear
that of all the voices in my ear,
yours is the only one I hear.

Your sweet remarks and your clever
charm - prose laced with poison,
lethal kisses at the nape of
my neck. You kill me, dear.
Is it bad to still want you near?

“I am damaged,” you say,
“My heart is battered and bandaged.
It has shattered many times.
I have picked up the pieces of this
fragile heart - I try to put it
back together, but it keeps falling apart.”

I’d like to take your hurt
and throw it upon myself.

So undeserving you are of the
aches that you endure.
I’d like to take your heart
and cherish it,
hold it in my hands where I know
it is safe.

I will not break you, dear.
Can I still have you near?