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My bleeding heart

The softness of my heart is bleeding for you constantly.
Where is that music gone that used to sing for you?
Where is that melody that whispered in my ear:
"You love her more than you can tell forever."?
Where is all that softness gone, that I enjoyed so much
in endless nights of wallowing in sensual orgies
of all universal passion let insanely loose
in ecstasies of beauty, happiness and madness?
When at last may I express my love to you as you are worth it
with my limitless and bottomless profound respect
immersed, bound up together with my total passion
of sincerity and endless worship of your soul and body?
I will not destroy you, only worship you and love you
and much rather perish all alone and far away from you
at a safe distance in my self-consuming passion
than risk hurting any of the frailty of your tender feelings.
Let me love you, nothing can stop me from doing so,
but let me never risk trespassing any of your wounds
that I will never be the one to hazard opening again.
My touch of love will be the softest that a lover ever felt,
I must insist on reassuring you, since I know better
than most lovers what it feels to bleed to death
just of a tender loving heart that loves too much
and never can stop doing so in self-consuming
self-inflicted voluntary crucifixion
of a love that knows no bounds of passion.

Poetry by Christian Lanciai