The Epitome of Me

My heart
is my palace
where our soul
flirts with malice.

And there
is nothing here
aside from
usual fear.

My love
is my anchor;
our canvas
not much blanker.

My will
is my power
which outlasts
every hour.

You are,
delicate star,
all my joy
by and by far.

And here
will always be
our spitting


  1. A beautifully worded piece of literature. You writing style is one of joyous honesty.


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