These promises I make
to your supple, subtle nape
have no definite form or shape.
And—
These promises I make,
'neath the evening's shade,
are as fragile as the wave and its wake.
Still—
These promises I make
are not to be taken lightly,
nor are they likely to fade.
But—
These promises I make,
having no form or shape,
are subject, too, to being unmade.
Yet—
These promises I make
exist not in transient states;
so, fear not the coming of day.
©2010 RA
