These hearts are two of a kind.
Where his bleeds, hers clots.
The solemn is found in varied ways
One fades to stain decay,
While other dyes in hard blots.

You see.
Suffering speaks its own urgent
Language. Parsed understanding
Ripens life's harvest in ways
the tongue of innocence fears
to eloquate.

I can't say that mine stopped,
But hers' in overdrive,
It can't pass the hard-knocks.
Its working overtime for the
Past tensions, far gone,
While mine locks to...