Painted Glass

I do not want painted glass
that colors my world
with promises imagined.

Give me the blues of your eyes
to look within on skyless days
that steal my soul.

I offer you sage and wisdom,
the price of a ticket to me.
But there are no guarantees.

Love is a potion mixed lightly,
so the scent is airy and subtle,
like my touch of morning shadows.

Give me no painted glass, love.
It cannot separate souls
that touch like dew on clover.