I could kiss her tears away

I could kiss her tears away.
It's amazing how a dozen less wet drops
tearing long shiny furrows down a pain-wracked face
being nobly intercepted by two knightly lips
passionate in sympathy,
emissaries sent straight from the heart,
make all the difference.

I could press that cracked facade against my shirt
and bury it in my shoulder
and envelop the pain.
I was a sink for every hot prick in her eyes
and every ragged breath
saliva, salty tears and all.
I took them and stood my ground.

My love--always the conquistador--could take all those hot emotions
and all those jerking sobs
and cool them down till there was nothing left.

But alas, I can no more. We cut ties,
being too close in a world
that cares too little for lovers' kisses
and too much for their differences.
And now she cries for me.

And I would still take away her agony
if I could,
as her tears still invoke the nobility
of those two knightly emissaries from my heart
and set them twitching to flee to her aid.

I could kiss her tears away before
but I can't now.
So I must be content instead to match them.