your blank canvas heart cracks
shards of golden light and stories
drift around your conch shell ears
you are the midnight gloaming
silent and serene, you stalk
through your witching hour
your eyes, as golden as the light,
are dead cold sharp like ice
you will not speak to me again
not even for the promise of gold
of silver of bronze of love
you are incapable of love
you have no beating heart
no lovers' touch no waiting shadow
your panther paws pad onwards
speaking costs too much
the price is far too dear for words
cast adrift, you dreamily spiral
on through the tossing glitter
over the lowest fairy bridge
you do not dare to land
they will steal you for your heart
it is more perfectly empty
than any before, even though
you protest your imperfections
the panther is your bower bird
it collects gold, ice, silence
it would collect one other
but alas, it is long lost
you have searched years for it
you have lost the most important
emotion in your life and death
you are nothing without it
but more imperfect with it
it makes you blind crazy foolish
it is everything you are not
it is love
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