To Beau, With Love

I am with love. Deep within my soul-
Eating away at the veins that make my heart grow weak
and stern like stone. A love so catastrophic,
Shakespeare's way with words,
couldn't compare to the stars I severed into the night
that formed the frame of your existence once placed back into the sky.
Into my life.

I am with love. Deep within my bones-
White with purity and stained with red of passion. Fury,
and compassion. A love so literary,
Percy Shelley's poetic flow,
couldn't compare to the brightness I stole from the sun
that I placed into my heart that ignited the flame-less candle
I ceased to endure. When you stepped there.
Into my life.

I am with love. Deep within my heart-
Pounding furiously to the beat of my internal song of want. Engaged,
and blithe. A love so esoteric,
John Keats' affectation,
couldn't compare to the hunger for ardor I sought from the wind
that I inhaled into my lungs, reviving the extinct essence of my whole.
Into my life.

I am with love. Deep within my blood-
Flowing madly like a stream between my channels. A rush of thickness,
harsh and inviting. A love so fleeting and harmonious,
Beethoven's symphony,
couldn't compare to the melodic flow of your heart beat,
trapped in my ears and released from my lips,
the night my heart sang a song of bliss. Almost as beautiful as your eyes.
And you came. Into my life.

With love.

By Me