The Seamstress

If I love you,
I will lose you,
Should nature adhere
To the only rule
My empress knows.
This is my experience;
Behind her brows
With volcanic glows
A new statue is born,
Her odes and her notes
On how to cope
Bolted into my
Motionless
Cobalt palms.

If I love you,
I will lose you,
For so long I chose
The isolated way
To disprove such losses
Imprinted in
My fingertips;
My father,
My brothers,
My daughter,
The others;
My friends,
My purpose,
A memory of lovers,
My name
Without end;
Even her squid ink blood
And her cuttlefish bones
Say they are unable to mend
My skipping-heart stones.

If I love you,
I will lose you,
So forgive me
If sometimes
I dye my eyes and
Blind myself from love,
Hermetically sealed
In a bluebell forest
Of muted tears,
My self below;
Without these fears I am useless,
Her presence above
Keeps me in the only
Lonely mortality
I have ever known.

Softly, as soft as the first falling snow,
Softly her sadness is sewn.

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