There’s a level of love buried behind your kind eyes,
a misplaced terrible truth, upended before the lies.

Your touch, a soft warm glow just beyond the tree line,
uncomfortable calm like one plate short at the table where we dine.

A prophet preaching puzzle pieces, forcing unfamiliar edges to fight,
hold my hand, test my heart and know that moments with you are my respite.

My guardian, perched sentry, posted overlord, you - a tale that’s better with age,
a life unkempt, and eyes that haven’t wept, a calm soul that’s never seen rage.

Be a shadow, steal my footfalls, lend a hand when ears bleed red,
forever words, like guided missiles, mean more based on who, or what, was said.

A lack of empty trust, replaced with expert dignity and never-extinguished lust,
our lives intertwined, forsaken, with a gridlock that one can hope will not rust.

You’ve roots placed in the deepest, darkest places of me,
if i’m the “apple of your eye” then you, my dear, would be the tree.

Patience tested, revealed only by the  need for now,
the need to breathe, restored, a resurgence of cascading favors were allowed.

My well being, your welfare, never more than a stones throw from home,
sitting across from a mirror image of happiness, leaving lifeless words in our hearts catacombs.

A charge ruled out, an unwillingness to change,
like us, love them, get through this life turning page by page.