To Her Serving Love.

Cross my heart (& hope to die) If I don't speak up, I'm afraid that you'd never try To quench my soul & whet my appetite. To hold my heart capriciously’d be to wish for an albatross; Not around your neck but beneath your sole. Good intentions aside, am I to be trampled? I hope that you'd discern; never ask me why.

Cross my heart (& hope to die) You’ve been an Icarus in the making, To gaze upon the Sun’s one thing; to fly too close, another. I'd watch you melt in a blinding haze Porcelain waves break & cascade; Plunging you into the deep; there’s no escape. My dear, to fly to the Sun is best in theory & in lies.

Cross my heart (& hope to die) Didn’t I serve my heart on a platter? I'd cut myself, heartstring to heartstring Severing me was a pitiful deed. Blood, sinew & bones were yours to keep, But you’d decided to be meek; My blood’d run stone-cold. My dear; please understand what you’ve wrought.

Medium: Ink, Acrylic Timeline: November 2019 AD - January 2020 AD