If I could lose my senses I would lose my ears,
so I could not hear your voice,
the one that told me you would always hold me by your side.
The neurotic bride
is waiting still,
Alone, but for a robin on the sill
who hops small imprints in the snow
then up he flies to come and go as he pleases.
How he teases with his winter wings.
He seldom sings,
learning not to give it all away.
If I could lose my senses I would lose my eyes,
so I could no longer see the lies
that line that frozen face of yours.
And space and time no longer mean a thing,
when like a jester turning endless cartwheels for his king,
I lost my senses.
Heart and head.