Her hands are busy

This one's a little different - someone replied to my previous poem, 'Let us play at fiction, you and I', so I wrote a quick response and posted it to them! Their original poem can be found here (http://www.reddit.com/r/Art/comments/26iokd/touch_acrylic_on_wood_80_x_61cm/chwrn1o), and was written by u/picpocgallery, who also painted the picture for 'Let us play at fiction, you and I'

Her hands are busy

The day we wed, our hands will clasp around

The wonders that have happened, Birdie-Wife

Of mine; we spend our days both run aground,

We spend them driving shadows from our lives.

You came into my life just like a light-

Beam, like the lightning of a midnight sky.

With edges set in razors, set like knives,

You cut the strings that tied my wings to my

Side; Oceans kept their tides, their unknown winds,

And blew my sails into squalls and storms,

And yet, you touched my cheek, and though I’d sinned

That day, the sins were good and of the norm.

A thrumming pace of words, of sights and signs,

They keep me at your side, oh Birdie-Wife of mine.