There's a space meant for you inside this box of treasures.
Beside my buttons and glue, on top of all my feathers
an envelope sits, waiting to be ripped
but the time isn't ripe, and you'll have to wait to read it.
We're waiting to be named
to be polished and adored
to be ready
to be chosen
to be asked onto the floor
I can still hear your heart
I can still feel your skin
I can still disagree
But I can still give in

The bottom-line has changed too many times
to define this
Now every time that you smile
I re-assess my blissful blindness

There's no choice left in matters of the soul
I empty, I listen
I give-over my control
to the outside looking in.

(Here's to screw-ups! Here's to failures! Here's to unpredictable passion and...us?)

yes.