a romantic collaboration: the cradle and the grave

there are so many days where i keep my eyes closed,
and pray i might be blind,
that to open them would reveal nothing more
than blackness bright in an ignorant mind,
but you live in the darkness behind the lid
and in the popping limb-light between the lash,
where you haunt with swirling catastrophes
as you tiptoe through my thoughts.
somewhere amid the waters of youth and dying day,
one will let a fancy frolic forward,
and lift them up on wings of wind -
the unexplained anomaly of young hope
reaching into the silent noise of
future life.
be careful with that lovliness, dear
it is deadly, yet
you wield it so exquisitely and forbid my eyes to glance
thats why i wish that i was blind,
so i wouldn't have to see
or comtemplate your stomach ache
and my heart's sore vacancy.