Cynic

Space for this -
Will he breathe out a single word?
Will you let him even breathe air?

Owl omens, crystal phantoms:
You send into his dreams with black envelopes
but you let him do the sending
and her do the tearing
the unfolding
And finally the message written in blood.

Ache for this -
Will she trust him ever again?
Will you find her trustworthy of his life?

Tainted bronze, broken jade, rusted gold:
In their world these are scarce
but one can always find a diamond in this rough.
You send them towards a glass precipice
And they know not to look down
But you and I always know it never works.

Space for this -
Will I find your sins forgivable?
Will I find your consciousness in Elysium?

He balances between Scylla and Charybdis.
She hovers between promise and trust.
They may be in love, but they are not lovers.