It Meant...

Bring me back or I am lost,

No more to be found.

Life is a series of Bifrost,

In yourself, if you are bound.

What if love was a memory,

And you tasted it like honey.

Bit by bit of pleasing allegory,

Sins, counting like there weren't any.

One can ask but one cannot tell,

What you meant when you were under the spell.

You expected combined heartbeats,

Or to you that wronged, the hell.

It is the leap that the heart takes,

And promises that it never makes.

To fill you with joy and set you high,

I am not afraid, to amend if I have the sky.

Mostly, it is not what it means,

When unacknowledged are the seams.

Love exists for some like a slow hum,

And sometimes it is a heartless clum.

It is how one, to love finds,

How eventfully it binds.

And when you are left wounded alone,

Trust me, your true love will moan.