Mi amore, I've so much of me, carefully hidden within.
For you to layer by layer open and by palms ripen.
Like a box within a trick box.
Within locks of openly presented locks.
You of all the Princesses.
At the depths of my chest, romanticizes.
You and your fingertips touching your lips coated glacés.
Fists can't knock down my heart's coded locks.
You are trying every other names but yours.
As minute by minute, my heart tick tocks.
As your touch gently swindles across fiction and reality, as if they were adjacent building blocks.
Woken yet I'm sleeping.
Dreaming, dreams of you in glassware, shattering—
“Of doth that knows of mine heart, protect.
Of doth that don't, septate.”
Blood in your palms realises that you were my inmate.
My selected, picture in my wallet.
My one true love and outlet.
So, now without you, I'm just a mute and this is just written nefariously direct.