Trees like arterial maps,
Stark and cold,
Yet the beauty holds firm,
Bracing in spite of the call
To remain close
Against your butter soft skin,
But I draw my sword against the day,
Things to do,
With allies cheering me on,
Detractors staring whispers,
Which would slip between my ribs,
Were I a slower warrior,
A less able magician,
A clumsier and indiscriminate
Lover,
A weaker king,
Such elements might break me,
But the cold frames the
Beauty and to steal appreciation,
Like promethean fire,
Lends clarity,
And when I return,
If,
I will share such treasures,
Scatter coins onto the sheets,
Drape ropes of pearls
Around your neck,
Kisses lit like birthday candles,
Touches loud as fireworks,
But I cross the field of battle,
Brothers holler their joy
As I join them,
But I fight to days ending,
And the dancing light
Of your eyes,
MB Blissett 