Fragile Flowers

In the ice and the muck, there is a plce for us; a garden of crystal blooms that tinkle in the gust of your whispers. This secret keep of silent longing and lost fear drips with liquid remorse. Here, I sing to your dreams and tend to your whimpers. Lend me your tears and I'll fall out of myself. I will wear your strumming ache on my breast as your sparkling shadow calls to my monster in this garden, our garden, of imaginary touch.