I fear leaning too close to the rose
its velvet smile hides secret thorns;
what if it drains the ink from my fingertips,
maps of red where I once held light?

I fear standing under fireworks:
brief suns that bloom and fall,
stitching bright holes in the night
scars that glow long after the sky forgets.

And you if I drift too near,
will you be an avalanche or a soft tide?
I am ready to be hurt, but only
by the ache inside your sad story.
I will take your sorrow like rain on my palms,
listen until your silence loosens,
cry with you, then mend the loose edges
a harbor when the sea is cruel,
a lantern when your night needs a face,
a shelter for you through rain and sun.