Prince Of Spike Poem by Belle Violet

Weld, cut
Bend, melt.
Measure, merge
Angle, curve.
Is it true
you turn metal
Into putty
with your hands?
I'm still learning
your trade
as I try to make
you
a more malleable man.
I'm hoping to earn me
a small portion of your heartland.
But you're rigid;
your walls,
aren't like others
at all.
They're obvious.
Flagged.
with bright colors,
thick mortar,
and through the slit
of a window
I can see
that you're in there.
This feels almost like
A Medieval war.
I doubt that you've been
this vulnerable before.
Like a hundred knights
are surrounding
your heart
and its door.
You can try
to stave me off.
All that becomes is
time lost.
I'll patiently wait
until you feel
more safe
to stay.
I'm not one for crushing egos
And leaving love slain.
I'm not one to hold your hand
Then abruptly
let our clasp break.
Your pretty blue eyes
are like ice.
Hardly-wet blocks
just begging
to melt.
I'll fashion my armor,
you push me away,
I'll dig in my heels,
and when you see that I'll stay,
you'll let me in
some day.
Or
I'll find a castle
more interesting
to topple,
and you'll
end up razed,
anyway.
If you're
the Prince of Spike,
I'm an adorable
girl-knight,
and I'm itching
for a love fight.