You are a blinding-white-hot iron rod, branding your being onto this mundane body of mine.
Engrave your name onto the mangled, patched sculpture that is my soul and remain untouched by time.
Go ahead. Burn me. Carve into me. Stitch your sweet essence onto the fabric of my mind and send the circuitry of my senses into overload.
Your voice can be both a catalyst and a balm. You can turn my heart into both a demolition derby of doubt and despair, and a mausoleum of just the same, and yet it beats on, enduring all, pounding to the everlasting love I have for you.