What is it that softly settles in my brood?
Feeds and famishes me, all the same

Nourishes my love and leaves it worse off
Slowly ensnares this heart, as it enamors it, as it gently clamors it

I am the dichotomy of your love, I’m the fruit of your labors
Cruel and generous all the same, sweet and bitter all the same

Your love, it gives as if takes, freely and without coercion
Always, it claims its pound of flesh

My cinder passion, my charcoal flame
Bright and fierce, yet full of soot all the same

I welcome your darkness, as I do your warmth and light
For with love exists a disparity, wintry and alight

So let not the blues settle, and wait for the flames to ablaze again
For they demand sweet blood, willingly given away

Like the palpable sense of grief
That nestles softy on the breast of a wrinkled log

My love too endures, the winter, the cold
The very conspicuous sense of loss

So long may it endure, if such a thing could be conceived
Or burn bright, burn fast with, the warmth permanently implanted in memories

For the very conception of you, fuels it, down to its dying rage
So it goes out with the waft of a thousand burning sage

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