Come to me as you are,
fresh from your conquests
back from the edges
of my world.

Lay your head gently
upon the stars in my eyes
and be grounded once more
by the desperate gravity
of my arms.

But I am not an anchor,
and I do not fight to hold you
to me
once you've recovered enough
to float away again
from me.

When you leave
again,
I will love you still.

And when you return,
broken from conquest,
let my hands press warmth
into your shivered bones.

Let my bleeding heart soothe
your heartache.

And should you discover
the minefield that is
my heart in your hands,
I will gladly let you bury
the pieces of me
that remain.