Are you a brush for my golden hair,
or a sharp dagger - so rare?;
Small pinches of my skin stand up,
in applauds, for your arrival,
but the question of survival still remains:
A swift sea? Or an endless night?
Something in between?
I am no owl, but I can see in the dark.
I am no dog, but I'll run if you strike.
Watch as the sun fades, then grows again.
It shrinks as the light fills me, so warm.
Can we share?; Can we love,
with an endless melody, rather than
an excerpt of being?
Whether yin or yang, I still see the air between.
Is it just you, or only me?
Be my daggerbrush,
because my hair still needs to be cut
after some time --
So, keep me in line,
and I'll look after you, truly.