Lovely, tender, is the moment I met you.
Eyes peeling backwards toward the greater somethings,
The future wrapped up in the palm of your hand
Filled with nervously plucked grass.
I have always believed, will always believe,
That moments proceeded by moments proceeded by emotions
Coloring your skin with bits of dust like roses blooming-
Dusk rose, I read about that somewhere-
Bleeding, craft the pieces of a person together down to
The last piece.
By default, I am crafted by you.