There are some things, of less than substance, that mean 
more than solid sentiment, that I would simply do, for you.

I shall catch an ocean current, with a net of humble will, 
or the parallel passion in a seconds pause before a fury 
kill.

Pick the spider silk thread through a stare, or collect 
the crystal lining of the lungs as it billows in the air.

Lure the growth of lemon roses, Or jam jar the space 
before a photo, with the truthful persons poses. 

Sew the warming veins within a leaf, the only sane 
comparison in the touch of tender cheek.
 
Rein in the air hooked by vengeful flames, learn the bow 
jump of a fox, and cubs unspoken games.

Chase the azure of sapphire and place it next to peacock 
green. Or climb the stars to paint the realms that others 
pass unseen.

Bag the grinning diamond's shine, and feed it to the 
songbird, so he may sing a silver coat for our waking time.

Hold the cupping comfort of a nest. Or the arts of suave, 
divine and noble, a perfume, destined to impress.

I would do these things, possible by me from you. For the 
gift you gave to me, unknowingly, was teaching me, just 
what to do.