In the hands of a poet,
Love is a variety of beautiful and dark things.

In the hands of a poet,
Your name may be wind chimes or the scream of a banshee.

In the hands of a poet,
Your actions are either of sin or valour.

In the hands of any other poet,
You are just someone to be played.

As that’s what we do with our toys and words.

But,

If that poet was me,
Love is nothing but light and forever long bliss.

If that poet was me,
Your name is in sync with my steady heartbeat.

If that poet was me,
Your actions are of soft and graceful as the summer breeze.

If that poet was me,
You are love, and neither words nor I can simply play with you.

(A.I.)