The Precipice

You can snap my heart like a twig if you please,

It lies in your palm, awaiting a fatal squeeze,

A thought that never fails to bring hope and fear

equally to a soul longing for your voice in its ear.

How sweet it is when I can taste for a moment,

The compliments you give, to which my ears are bent,

Stretching the curative balm of your sonic clarity,

To last another week as you juggle my heart with verity.

Never committing yourself to the love I hold so close,

Yet giving enough to keep my heart in quiet repose,

As it sits in your hands praying for the day,

When you restore it to me, and with you I stay.