Harvest
I hang a pad lock
On the chains
Around your heart
My instincts revere
Love above all
You being
The embodiment,
The one ripe fruit
In a poorly-timed harvest
Communion
You are everything
Even in silence
You indulge my need
For communion
Palms facing north
I worship you without
Precautionary armament
*
Eeeep love poems *hides face* Hanging the padlock is a thing couples do, perhaps you have seen chains full of them around your city?