Why Ridicule Me And Laugh? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Why ridicule me and laugh?
And drive me to the point of despair and insanity.
When a chink of your blue eyeshadow
Is a serpent entering my body?
It is a fever at dawn when we brush hands.
And the morning frost melts like a tear.
And drops, spooling into my palm, yet it remains without evaporating into clouds.
And in the evening, there are breathless moths.
Dancing around moons and stars of fire
There are moments of insecurity and honesty.
Like silken threads of love pulling us together
from either side like a shoelace not yet tied
So, I am stumbling over my words.

So, I can't pretend I am not a fledgling.
A small bird in a cuckoo's nest willing to fall,
to crash and break in a hope to believe
that even in your cruelty my moaning
will unfold into a weak murmur and find you nude
without your armour, your sword to slay
Me and your invisible dragons,
and I am wearing my chainmail clothes.
Using my flesh, my organs, to see your inner light and taste
your midnight beauty and might, your inner lust, your passion
almost monetary yet willing to starve and die.
Warming me for a second into a mustard tree
And for a moment, I still have faith in your love.