A thousand times, had you

Rested your cheek, soft as silk

Against mine,

A surface smoother than the reddest of wines

And warmer

Than the sweetest of milks.

Had this been

One of those thousand times

It would have been

A thousand lines

A thousand nights

Easier

To leave this plethora of

Blood and bones broken

and regrets unspoken

behind.

But you took that away with you.

Sigh.

A thousand years before, I was yours.

A thousand years hence, I am yours.

What has changed

Is the way my breaths

rest against your cheek,

A feather upon a nest,

And don't bounce back, and settle abreast

Of the cripple I've become, depressed and weak,

Staying, as sawdust, stinging and sweet-

My defeated breaths against your cheek.

So take my breath away, sweetest of wines

It is of no use to me,

Don't let the signs

Of wombs and tombs

Wound your mind.

You were and will always be

The woman without melancholy

Lighting the world, lighting my word

In a paradise, clean of wound and worry.

A woman without melancholy

Resting beneath my puddle of grief

As a lone cuckoo in the halcyon sky

Croons her final lullaby

And flies away, alone, free.