Love can grow as big as your heart holds it, as much as it fits in the atriums and ventricles of the soul engine. Although I imagine heart as covered by autumn leaves and not flowers, black boots paced on it several times. They usually leave behind wounds, but you'll never know how dangerous are those boots if you never let the black eyes pierce you. Enough with my words lake, I'll let Velimir's speak.
The girls, those who pace
With boots of black eyes
Upon the flowers of my heart.
The girls who put javelins
Upon their eyelashes’ lakes.
The girls who wash their feet
In the lake of my words.