The Storyteller

I have loved you a thousand times,

Cared not a whit you were not mine.

The wise men say I dove too deep,

But fools can swim and breathe in sleep.

Under the blue, under the air,

Magicians we can conjure where

The slightest sigh above the floor

Is like a scream we do bear more

Interest to cease

Desire within split seconds of a pause so thin.

This shooting breathes like molten glass

And so we blow it is our task,

To tender well the shyest need

The silent prayer as thought were deed.