At the edge of a brow, fingers tame
all the fray strands that ebb away.
With fierce grace, one can only gaze
as you clear sail, yet remain still
in the drifting calm of a silent shore.

You are forever whipped by the wind
as the peak of their innocent screams
could melt into a dozen arias.
You forever wither at tattered seams
but are forever still like Summer doldrums.
Even when inside denial swarms ashore.

I place one gentle kiss of copper
between the thousand lines of stress
that are tearing into your aching skin.

Will one quiet in the sea of sand,
like the vestige of every passing face,
of every ignited intrigue in the sapphire night?
Whose familiar face does one take
to battle the silence of that unfamiliar place?

To our bitter avenues of disclosed duels,
I will lower my hand for its solemn end.
I will knead my heart through your final thought
and return your soul to its rightful china rose.

I will one day strive to mend my own.

(You emblazoned my sapphire nights
like that moment the dawn betrays a sun.)