Tears under a microscope

I cannot bear to bask beneath those eyes

So sharpened by the cleanse of holy tears.

To face you here, I flirt with my demise,

For in your gaze I face all of my fears.

I see myself reflected back again,

Within those mirrored pools of wetted blink.

I finally come to see just who I am;

Inside your docile soul I find my drink.

To paint the face with sweet and dampened streams,

Is all the makeup nature deigns to give.

And what a gift for those blessed to perceive,

This soul burst forth into incarnation.

To weep in sorrow, tears become retreat;

To weep in joy, like kiss of summer rain.

To weep in beauty, there lies math discrete,

For here pierce sharpened tears of truth untamed.

To find a soul so sensitive and pure,

The world may cast in all opposing light.

And yet the virtue of Lady Demure,

Is everything at last falling to right.

I sense the sense of sensitivity,

As raising bar to truth, that pure delight.

A soul so sensed can only be to me,

Like incense wafting me to fragrant flight.