Old Poem

[endlessxxautumn]

I'm unable to express
what I feel when read
the words you've written that have bled
into the fabric of my being.

An artifice
that can't be touched
animates your vitality.
Your movements are a
foreign language,
and your grace a thing
estranged.

My familiarity wants
no separation.
My sentiments follow like
moths to a flame.

I’m afraid to learn
I'm tripped while dancing;
tripped at attempting
any gesture of talent.

Humbled beyond all humility
to love, honor, and obey.

Strip the last coat of whitewash away.
Throw down the brush.
Forgive our lust.
And trust myself to stay.