The Key to a Woman's Heart is Within the Man

Soundless, he crashed along her walls.
Fell like a bruised rock, died shivering in the clover.
She stirred, asleep: an oblivious, silent orchestra.
Autumn leaves and music entered his death —
inner seasons began to change.

The stars shined like a million candles held by darkness.
His cadaver eyes were illuminated, lit by the crescent moon.
His body twitched: the soul threw the Reaper in chains.
By morning he was breathing, somehow stronger —
built less of stone, more of dream.

He opened his arms, embraced the air’s eternal form,
took the earth’s colors and drank them like forgotten wine.
He realized he’d had to die at her feet
before he could be alive in her arms.

I adore you! I adore you, my love!

She awoke with colors exploding over her;
his caring words were sailing down.
Two bluebirds built a nest nearby. She put out two cups of tea.
The morning lifted off the ground and turned her eyes on.
She sighed. She blew a kiss over the garden wall…

His chest cracked, crumbled, blew away.
A fresh, wet heart emerged and stretched its wings.
It beat new, beat with a selfless purpose:
to pump love through all his veins;
to take her hand and lead her towards forever …

So he spread his arms, soared into her beautiful waiting.
Inhaled her sweet stare and found a soft place to land.
And when he dropped glass shadows on boulders, destroying his fears,
a gold key fell from the sky and splashed in her cup of tea.

I love you! he proclaimed, wiping tears from his eyes.
I know, she said, kissing him. I’ve always known.