Your Heart is a Crime Scene

What am I doing?
Countless faces, and I, the clumsy diver
I fall headlong into the one
This one, the one whose every footstep
Encompasses a hundred miles
And even now this (relatively) short distance
Is my own resistance exemplified

Fears in trembling hands
Not unlike cell-phone static
The weak signal of the temporal backbeat
Verisimilitude for grossly inopportune reflections

And I sit and wonder at the blinking eye of time
I sit as a frog on a lily pad, contemplative of the flies
I sit as a coyote, hoarse from howling all night
I sit as a moonbeam upon your eyelash
Glistening before the tears even form beneath
Winked away in a false flirting gesture
To prove the sweet to your bitter
The sweat to your labored breaths

For don't we all build in love's dark caverns
A halfway house for our once captive hearts
And sit on a creaking stool
In the kitchen of childlike wonder
Chewing on the edges of despair
Dreading and dreaming the day a knock is heard
The door swinging open
A perfect moment held in time

But my house has been built with rickety boards
The creaking floors are marked with scuffs
The ears of the walls have grown deaf to screams
And there is a scent of old death in the air

Convince it is not so, and I am forever yours
Try to convince me, and I will hear no more of you