Would that I could
paint the world as poetry,
to waltz each sunset in time with love
this would be my gift to you.

But since I cannot
I shall pluck each ogre hair
that grows upon your conscience
and with that weave a silken tie
the colour of unveiled mystery
the texture of unfallen tears.
And this will become my proud plumage.

Before we search for adventure
in the folds of all flesh, remember
the stars that you stole for your eyes.
And I will remember
that the world is poetry
and sunsets do not waltz in time with love.