Saturday, 13 August 2011

Leave Me Be

Heave, dear, heave the stoney statues
of your love-heart's corridors
to my door, dear, more the fool
to you when I don't answer, laugh
I may, I might, to see you break
the best of yourself open like an egg
and spill your musts and musn'ts
like an anchor to my dirt,
moaning your trust, errupting almost,
you stupid thing, you devil's bitch,
bleeting for my blades, to which I laugh
again, no may, no might, just silver
shades of sheer delight,
I am no shepherd,
nor an art collector,
leave me at my door, my dear,
to count the morning's yawns,
weigh me down again at dawn when I collect you.
Recollect you.
Perfect King of love's reflections.
Leave me be to recollect you.
Leave me be, leave me be.

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