I’d give away all wealth to be tortured with kindness,
My body a tomb for your style.
I’d steal away my health in the midst of your presence,
If it granted me a glimpse of your smile.
It’s made me a sweet, shaking strum of a chord,
A fear that’s been told it can roam.
And each time I look at the gravel and mourn,
You’ve never cast that first stone.
I’m at home.