Within near proximity of the one to whom I pledge,

the one I mercilessly shatter angers to come one with instead,

collapse, yes I do! though surely not for exhaustion,

for he lunges and catches me much like the love I tossed him.

In the room of afar, where no longer his presence be,

the monochrome dominates my space faster than I may ever see.

Though, however bleak, it fails to thief the form of art

he so gallantly creates to keep color to my heart.

To my window, serenade me he will, on a two-degree night.

Love me with not one, but with two or three might.

Gladly I present to him a new emotion uncovered,

so if it's a lover he wants in return, bona fide, he's lovered.

Already do I know his answer to my unspoken prayer,

and the magic of the words spoken is well in odds of the sayer.

But still for the sake of emphatic love do I ask it

to the rightful reader, to the rightful whom I may pass it-

If the beating heart of me be that of which I give to you,

and it gains weight with your actions, even with none left to do,

would this said organ be rightful of a place in your hands

for all the time in the world the giver stands?