It is one piece, one of many.

Dare we examine it,

every angle, ingredient, 

microscoped in every light and shade,

even in the dark, without

the whole, without the rest?

We do. Unbalanced, tired,

I do, and am sorry for it.

Take all of me or none.

I have been crying.

There is a piece lived with my head

afraid under my pillow. 

I hold it out with all the rest.

You do not need to accept it.

And I?  Your hands hold out

your entirety.  Take all of me,

or none. Sweet Sir, you do not say.

Yet, you are willing, longing.

I am a tired hipocrite.

Please, patience.
Give me the morrow.

Give me the morrow to accept,
cherish all of you.

I gift you the same of me.