i press dew

from the lips of truth

and pretend

that i can mend

the broken hearted

powdered dust

and scaled rust

the lunar moth

brushes from its wings

for i was made

for finer things

too

handsome blue

trust and blush

a confection i miss

as memory often drifts

and perches on you

~

© M.G. Iannucci 2019

Yours was the best heart I ever knew. It now beats in me too.