Like the barren trees of winter, I unwrap the fragility of my soul (to you; for you) exposing all veins of deficiency- a reflection of fallen leaves and naked trunks in December. The leaves, they fall and scatter, waiting to be swept away.
Me, I await to be swept. To be brushed into the depths of your merits & vices, your laughter & sorrows, and your promise to sustain warm through a blizzard.
Say, I will.