You Are In The Window

This is you
Flowers from your meander
Honey and toys in the glow
Aesthetic that is the secret
Of your melody
Your music is crisp and light
The sun bleeds through your
Bouquet of eclectic

It's not my music
It's not the Wagnerian
Thrust and touche
That drives my sword arm
I taste your honey on my pallet
I like your delicate balance
And plie
Your grace defines my brutality

I'm a soldier who fights
For your window sill
When I stand here
And look
At whom exists
In this stew
I know what the cost
Of existence is