Delicate

Mister Melmoth has a past
and though I love him now
the rose in his lapel was once a seed.
And soon the flower withers dead
as Mister Melmoth too
but a moment of this grace is all I need.

He tells me that my hands
are much too delicate to long
to climb the iron fence around his heart,
but also says that I
should want a nicer cheek to kiss.
All while his face hangs like a piece of art.

But these are the only lies his little mouth could ever tell
And if secrets are for keeping, I will let him keep them all
Because no matter how it grew, whether by saints or fiends of hell
I love that little heart he holds behind his steely wall
And I love his weathered mind, just like that rose in his lapel
Whether still thorned or with its petals poised to fall

But Mister Melmoth has a past
And though I love him now
His heart has beat in places I shall never know
And he tells me that my mind
is much too delicate to long
to know of where his past selves used to go.

But he also says that I should want a nicer cheek to kiss
and if secrets are for keeping, I will let him keep them all
Mister Melmoth has a past, and though he thinks I'll die of this
I'm sure we neither see the edge from where I'll fall