Let Me Tell You This

Before you leave me, my darling, let me tell you this. When we met, I was stolen words and borrowed phrases. Bruised in colour and wretched Harsh character, bent on self harm and ruined chances. But, you became my credo, my Saint to be adored, breathlessly calm Your lips were the gateway to pristine zephyrs and alluring tone. You were my dress code for the day and my hair cut for the month. You were my daily meals and supported causes. My earth, moon and the space inbetween. When you walked, your shape was my thrill. And your coetish lure, my torch Your eyes were my caves to mine, and your beauty my arete to climb. Your sun kissed soul, burned through my clouds, and your caring thoughts mastered my informal grudge Your smile became my beeline. And your grace lifted away the dark taste of grey from my mouth, and replaced it with coloured worth When you leave me, let me know when you have returned. Drop a cup or fuse a light, and I shall know you didn't leave me after all. And I shall set the table again. Cut my hair and change my clothes again. Because I wouldn't want you to think that I had stopped caring for life after you left me Or that I threw knives at the world, instead of love. And had so easily forgotten the messages you left to guide me to my end. So, let me tell you this. You are me and I am you. And all I ask is this. That you let me close the door first