Hemorrhage

My heart is great.
It beats drums.
It pumps crimson.
And it breathes elixir.

My heart is mighty.
It is skinned with metal.
It is nailed with steel.
And it is grounded with gold.

It is beauty.

It is mine and I have given it to you.
Wholeheartedly.

Yet, yet, this thing...
Its beat deafens.
Its pump overflows.
Its breathing halts.
Its skin rusts.
Its nails loosen.
Its ground mutilates.
Its beauty fades.

And it pains like crazy.

Secret Garden

Haze.
Smoke.
Dimness.
Darkness.
Pitch black.

Then, a beat.
A thump.
A whisper.
A spoken word.
A glimmer.

With every sound, the littlest of the light grows and glows.
The music illuminating stalls my withering.
My roots dig the ground farther and my leaves possess the air wider.
Keep me moist, keep me breathing, keep me alive.
Keep me loved. Keep me loving.

ONE.

It takes:
a second to look;
a minute to risk a second glance;
an hour to assess further;
a day to decide;
a week to say the three words;
a month to make sure you aren't joking; and
a YEAR to finally affirm that from the very first moment until indefiniteness, you're right -- and yes, I am right.

I'll say these words once again for there has never been time when I was ashamed to do so -- and there never will be: I love YOU, still and always.