A Kindling Soul

There are a few fingerprints Etched upon this heart of mine. Of those I love. Of those I’ve loved. Of those I‘ve been loved by. Persisting from the basal touch, Immutable, till this day. Not propinquity, Nor time, it seems  Are things which they obey. Some exist in multitudes. Some, much more scarcely. A few, engraved; Potent, Ingrained. Crafting a bespoke labyrinth. Distinctive, each, mutative; Morphing the shape of my heart. Impressions indelible; Impacts ineffable; Enabling, endowing, en garde. A scant few I’d have scorched, But what could lighten the abyss? In obscurity, Murky, they remain, Cimmerian, even eclipsed.

So easy to love,  they all said of her, A smile so bright,  Worries and fears soon blur. The twinkle in her eyes - almost ever present, Clever, and quick,  She is effervescent. Comforting words,  soft and sincere, The darkest clouds, in her presence, disappear. Pretty easy to love,  she mused to herself, Just a soft touch, or a kind word, For her diffidence to dispel. All her heart desired were some little things, A written word, a stolen glance, maybe some paper rings A warm caress on a chilly night, A whispered "I’m here"  in the dim light. Every coup d'œil, every forehead kiss, Every breath shared Turned into her bliss. Too easy to love,  Too quick, they murmured low, As the toll of her love begins to show. Quick to trust,  quicker to fall. Plunging headfirst,  always giving her all. Beguiled, betrayed,  And broken, thereof How arduous it is, To be easy to love.