I have my way with words,
while you draw moonlit circles
around my tell-tale heart
in the fading highway streetlights.

You have your way with hands,
firm, yet gentle like
a rose with steady thorns;
tucking away those pesky hair strands of mine.

I have my way with distance,
a star whose light long died
but never ceasing to mesmerize
those who dare gazing at the velvet night sky.

We both have our way with meek,
yours soft to the touch; rain on burning wounds,
mine a sharp long knife, smooth across your cheek,
as both we longingly complete our long forsaken muse to keep.

© fey (26/05/24)