Held

Here is a man that I wish would open and find me, a wellspring, standing by kindly laughing at his demise, the Spartan in him melting at my smile disarmed and made wise in letting go of why Holding my hands aside I know better than to try and pry these cracks, Having survived some seismic episodes and swept and mended what was left Broken, torn, bereft but given time, can begin In the dark, when hard is soft and torn is softly assuaged with warmth anew, nothing can be everything between me and you