Stepping Stone

HIS STEPPING STONE

I hold my hands above my head,

Outstretched and towards the Sun,

So that he can use my palms as stepping stones,

And always walk ten feet from the ground.

I dare not pick a flower to represent my love,

For it fades like the rose on a wilting beauty’s cheek.

No, I am like the frozen stream on February’s watch,

Though my skin is cold and goosebumped from lack of his touch,

Underneath my blood still runs in rapid waves towards my yearning heart.

Still I wonder if he laughs inside to know my true desires?

I say he deserves the stars but ask him to choose me,

When my arms aren’t even long enough to take his hand in mine.

Well, even the diamond comes from the Earth’s muddy core.

But it’s the hardest stone that cannot break unlike my fragile heart.

Yet if he wants the world which I am determined to provide,

And if only the softest silk should rest upon his shoulders.

And only the finest men should touch his sacred lips.

Than what profane fool am I to hope to be blessed with his kiss?