Perfect Figure

You kissed me on the mouth so I could breathe,
And how properly sweet were the promises that you’d said you’d weave.
You in your ballet shoes danced in the crevice of my brain
And now that I left, I fear I am a sort of insane.

Your hazel eyes would stare at my soul and condemn my thoughts
To gaze at the color and the dreams in which I was caught.
Your love seemed to be the perfect figure
To wave a finger and hold the trigger.

I slid into your heart with ease,
But nothing comes without pain.
I brought on this draught,
But I could not bear to make things bigger.