Russians

In the black and white of an endless film, I long to be your red rose, vivid, surreal. The last glimpse you catch before closing your eyes, The final breath shared under stormy skies.  
I have never fought so fiercely, so true, Until the battle of words was between me and you. In the war of hearts, we wield the knives, Each strike cutting deep, yet we both survive.  
I hold the blade to your chest, you to my throat, A silent scream as our souls take note. I beg you to do it, to end this rift, But you, with your surrender, offer a white handkerchief.  
You fall to your knees, a prayer in your gaze, Whispering, “If it heals you, then let the blood blaze. Plunge deep, but let your eyes never stray from mine, For in your gaze, I wish to stay.”  
If you seek a love as fierce as fire, Look to the heart of a Russian. For they gave us Dostoevsky, Tolstoy’s art, Their passion flows deep, a heart that never stops beating even after death.  
   
NP