The One Count Of Loving Hearts. Poem by Denny Moonde

Your strength shears through me
I feel you; without touching you.
The sting of a bee,
Cannot stop me tasting the honey.
You seem to be a sign of brilliance.
Perhaps the fairest in this hemisphere,
Me thinks perchance;
Our own homely atmosphere.
You're a double edged sword;
Am lost in my words.
In one hand the consequence's grave,
In the other, noble result for the brave.
Nor - the imbecile thought matters
Nay - the horrible emptiness in tatters.
My weakness, is fear of losing you.
And goodness! Clearly you have no clue.
Come along, capture the moment;
That would bond our souls.
And d'ble the one count of loving hearts.
Hunt we not, a graceful torment.