The Blacksmithess

My moonlight, what is it, that guides me to you
Like a firefly, in between the night snow
Like warmth that spreads gently thorough my mouth, my tongue
Buried deep in the inner sanctum of your love

I have cast around, looking for something unbeknownst
A thing that escapes rationale or tight definition of sorts
Just a feeling at the tip of my lips, at the verge of my soul
Found in each thing that you hold, under the will of its own

For the sadness lasted longer than I thought it would
Yet it receded, all the same, with the first step that you took
Say if ye wonder, would he be better off, had we not rendezvoused
Know he wouldn’t be here, had not been for you

Perchance exist he would, in matter and in sum
Each pound of flesh accounted, the fickle fodder for the bugs
Exist he would in a personage of a different sort
One he wouldn’t be particularly proud of

For you melt, and you make, in the forge of your embrace
The gentle flames lick each imperfection away
And each strike that you lay, smells peculiarly of love
With you cast this broken heart whole

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