Every gust of wind is an icy blade,
cold fingers crossing and dragging along
everything that made my heart beat for you.

I know how to keep it all inside,
and let others write my side of the story,
because I'm already too busy sealing myself away,
stitching closed all the places that once wanted to let someone inside,
where I could give what was left of me.

The sides that were light and dark,
that wanted to send you a message of love with all I do,
because spoken and written words may not have been
able to communicate that I tried to let your love
fall and fold over me like a warm blanket,
a tide of kisses and skin dreamed of whenever I closed my eyes.

Every time the sun goes down and I know winter's cruel cold
is hinted with each fading slant of light pulling away
everything that made my heart beat for you.

I know it's just blood pumping and flowing through exhausted veins,
that all stories like ours go beyond metaphors,
to wordless places beginning to seal closed,
let no one inside where I can be hurt again.

Where sides light and dark only read a message of collision,
the velocity of living for love that crushes me in the crash,
crushes all I've ever tried to get through to you about who I am,
and how this tide is already folding and falling over me.

Every time the night closes in as a dark ghost,
hinting with each spirit a light pulling away
from everything made me want to open up to you.

I know how to keep it all inside,
only giving out shards of who I really am,
of the story that I've communicated in every word I write,
every word that falls and folds over like a blanket covered in our letters.

In the light and dark created whenever
our hearts beat for another.