To What We Love Revision

Along the bare path we tread
Worlds away from any living soul.
The wind whipping at our hair,
Her arms tucked close to her body.
‘My friend, are you such a mystery.
Your words are actions that I cannot full understand.
And yet, you stand there, smiling at me
As if I haven’t offended you any.
Your words are haunting when one sleeps at night;
They refuse to give me peace.”

My eyes rise towards the grey sky,
I really don’t know anything else to say.
Lips pressed in thin lines,
I would like to say many things at once
But only settle for words that won’t chase her away.

‘A mystery you say? You judge much too soon dear one.
It would almost be as if I were to compare you,
To the infamous painter and the well known author.
It is not as simple as you, and others, believe it to be,
It is almost like master and slave; with whips and chains!
Dear, I implore your accusations!
Why compare me with my words I dare to write?’

She laughs, like bells rising in the distance,
Wide-like eyes dance in every direction but mine.
She tucks fragile hands into deep pockets,
As we walk beneath the sleeping trees.
I whisper to the winding breeze,
‘We’re all slaves to what we love.’