my poor heart became elated by the words you
gave to me, poured them down my
throat like honey (gave the gift of non-
receiving) as if you were
a bumble bee with a thorn built just
The soft of your hands was non-relieving,
took for granted all my
grieving, so I sailed your ship on a
and relearned the art of make-believing.
I'm rocking to a new one now, and slowly like
that milking cow I trip and stumble like
before, but now I know that less is
more than I could take from you, and I'm
undone and you're to-do;
I'm breaking hearts within my shoe, and holding
one with hands unglued.
Breathless are these birds tonight, before I
set them into flight so frenzied like the beast
I'll be, and stepping up I climb
that tree to where he meets me and we'll
know that this is how
our story goes.
copyright amanda atkins 2008.