in this heart hand a sword gently slow draws
So fierce a blade that cannot be unearthed
exposing that which binds the mortal flaws
to that of lipstick rouge from puckers birth.
a sheath betrays of that which covers lips
loves identity begins to question paint
life force or color pass between their sips
yet emotions swallows deep between lament.
the perfect kiss is as the perfect sin
arched arrow begins perfectness aloof
and dealt a death blow to the soul within
eternity is miss if truly proof.
again the balance comes as has before
the pen has wounded lips more than the sword