I am not complex

I am clad in armour
Wrought of all
The charming heartbreak
That life has battered
Then tempered
Into a wise cold sheet
Waiting to be tested

This shiny layer
Is filled with cracks
Where the blows seep
Deeper than I ever expect
Except the surprise
Is all pervading
Every single time

Beneath the iron
Lies the army of brambles
They crunch and they snap
Blood slits, nicks and traps
Into a mess borne of desire
Clapping at my solitude
Caressing my sorry wounds

I entomb myself here
To ensure my repentance
For every false movement
I dare to make
To attain a certain happiness
Which herein has no place

Beyond the bush
Lies an ocean of water
Annoying abundance
Leaves me treading
On rapid tide movements
Relapses and storms
Where the odd clear day
Lets me swim onto the sand

Dampened and panting
Clothes ripped and shrinked
I forget every time
Then declare myself king
Of the island of tranquility
Where the ocean reaches not
Except when the moon decides
She descends with heavy floods

My tears are my next saviour
For they are lighter in the water
Upon them I can float
And keep me breathing
Through the salt
Now that its seeping
Through the cuts
I let them float me
Through my steely gates

Now left ajar for all the passing
There's hinges hanging rusted
From the moisture in air
I declare my pardon anyway
For I daren't enter without warning
That's happened once before
It took me days to  swim to shore

The voice of intuition
Lets me know to come inside
From here I actually feel the things
So I can then describe
I sit on giant petals
To peruse what I've not felt
Then shout above the crashing waves
To resonate through the pearly gates
To negotiate the thorn bush
Then become the warrior's bane

Only then can I tell you
After the words reach my limbs
How nimble I must be
Even though I'm rather simple
To feel and fetch and crawl
Then rule and fight
Bleed raw delighted
To let you know
That I'm not complex

"where night is...the swallows return or a hut near a lake"

in the castle of our love,
windswept fortress of
ashen grey, where the
four poster bed rests
on wooden floorboards
and the windows have
no glass,
roses wind around our
bed and their petals
blush against the oak,
and our dreams press
to our lips,
i can believe that
romance and passion
will sweep us, breathless,
to paradise, that this
glowing happiness was
a promise we'd never
betray, as your arms
fold me in the morning
of the dusk, my limbs
stretched out and your
slinky legs wrapped
around mine. red rose
of me in the ashes, red
rose of you sinking
into the night.