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.