Her
Cutting through, dancing through
wlith petals rumbling beneath our feet,
we dip and twist, entwined by a whispering thread—
holding tight enough to turn you blue, but never red, my love.
I don't know where it will strike—
but I know I'll die with wrinkles around my lips,
comfort in my eyes,
knowing I made the greatest trade—
my life, for you, my light.
To have you hold me—
guide me when sight fades, catch me as my body fails,
your gaze speaking volumes beyond words,
holding me soft and fragile—
so precious no one else could ever recreate this, my dear.
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