Delicacy

There's a line down the center of your face

Ad when your head is turned,

I can see that perfect heart-drawn silhouette.

Left to my own devices,

I would hold that face

And treat it delicately,

You know I would.

And I must talk your ear off

But it pains me to hear the clause.

The end of that phrase can

truly stab a person.

"Not that way".

I'd drop your porcelain face

And let it break against the floor.

I'll pick up my feet and say

"Oops" out of obligation.

The last delicate thing I'll do for you.