These words were meant for you.

Don’t let the frozen hand of rage lay cold upon your skin
But warm thy blood, thy touch that run through the ocean,
Thy fingertips like rosy petals smoothly bleeding red
of sore that stay too long in the rank wildness.

I close my eyes to see the most
and in my dreams I see what I have lost.
In every soul there is a shade
a shadow lent from beauty’s chest
and every shadow I paint as new
Until another, as your heart, does appear.

April 2018 ©k.c.