That’s why.

That’s why.

She gave me her heart and everything below it..
Above all, her mind..

..she kept for herself.

That’s why I love her.



She asked me if she should put the word out, now that I was coming home..
.. I don’t know why.

She knows my prose is addictive..


She knows I spit fire.

She knows my questions burn and will never be extinguished.

I’m never coming home.

She knows.



My soul is captured in her stare.
Hands crippled by my craft; I am no longer a craftsman..

No longer a man of my word but I still speak with the depth and darkness of oceans.

A false Prophet.

A fools profit.

But She is far from naive and has nothing to lose.

Now she just stares and although I can no longer charm her with my craft,

My soul is captured in her stare..

..and when she closes her eyes, I’m hers.