He Who Is Not I

Go ascend now my dear atop the pedestal upon which he has placed you,
Higher than any my loving hands could build.
And when you spiral down my beloved,
Like a gift from heaven,
Your bright silk gown flailing as your parachute,
Know it is I and not him, who will be there to break your fall.
Impossible to prevent the ache, only attempt to relinquish it.
Impossible to prevent the tears, only wipe them from your drowning eyes.
Lay your precious head upon this pillow I bestow. 
Accepting of only that which holds an immediate benefit to you,
A quality which my heart lacks.
Gazing at the oncoming dawn,
A deep trance with what appears to be the only guarantee,
For nothing else in life seems certain,
Besides heartbreak.
But even that has its flaw, in that it is not indefinite.
I can feel the throbbing in your chest, as I lie beside you.
My thought process causes an extended silence between us,
I have told you I loved you so many times before,
Except my mouth was closed.
And as for the next time you descend tranquilly from the starry night sky,
Your limp body crashing against the harsh wind, convinced this painful plunge is your fate,
You can be assured that my arms will be extended, patiently awaiting your arrival.