You took a match to the expectations
I had for falling in love
And walked through my door
On fire

was that what the songbird called for?
a feeble bleating of voices
chorus together in the sunbeams of day
and die down in the night

weak wisps of fragile sunshine
make their way down
trickling from an
enormous ball of heat beyond human belief
whispering tenderness / warmth / salvation

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."