The Virgo in me, both pure and destroyed.
He’s methodical, precise, yet something wild,
A sinner’s hands with a saint’s smile.
Now I breathe where poison used to stay,
Like lavender fields after rain’s decay.
So here I stand in his golden hour,
A fragile thing rebuilt
He’s my Virgo boy, a bittersweet truth,
In this unspeakable life, he feels like youth.