He fell in my arms.
Not in love, but fast asleep.
I fell the former.

I wish that I
                     could turn myself into love;

From head to finger-tip-toe
                                            and to each broken strand of golden hair.

I'd stretch myself outward until
                                                    love encompassed you.

There was a poet who was lost
His world was covered in grey frost
He poured out his heart
Suffered for his art
He is now found, but at what cost