Not Guilty

My lover is not a thief

he never stole my heart;

it is still where it has always been

of that I'm certain,

or I would not feel its beating.

He warmed my life with his breath

when he whispered

spring butterflies into my ears

and my heart chased them

 all the way to June.

My lover is not guilty

he never took my love;

he lit it with his summer hands

when they touched
 the willow's shadow

on my skin,

and banished the sad shape

 before it had the chance

 to reach down

and tattoo me with its tears.

My lover is not a marauder

he never invaded my soul

he walked up toward the fence

that protected the garden

of my blossoming dreams,
 carrying fresh water 
and some extra seeds

and asked, most earnestly if he could help

My lover never committed a crime

He committed his love to mine