When empty tears cease to welt,
the underside of love is naught.
The barrens of indifference felt.
Healed the heart no longer wrought.
Thine flower left in dry to wilt.
May I have eyes to watch it die.
Tattered petals turned to silt.
Sent on lightened wings to fly.
And while my shoulder faces west,
thy hands reach out for fingers fated.
To kiss the skin the heart knows best,
and find that warmth hath now been gated.
Beauty is a love withheld,
to fertilize the passion grow.
But mine heart's desire has been felt,
and now it's time to let it go.