The Storyteller

I have loved you a thousand times,

cared not a whit you were not mine.

The wise men say I dove too deep,

but fools can swim and breathe in sleep.



Under the blue, under the air,

Magicians we can conjure where

the slightest sigh above the floor



is like a scream we do bear more

interest to cease

desire within split seconds of a pause so thin.



This shooting breathes like molten glass

and so we blow it is our task,

to tender well the shyest need

the silent prayer as thought were deed.