Tuesday, October 27, 2009


Smothered love, so nothing to declare
Plain and painted, so nothing left to say
In the park where children-statues play
I never told, and so I left you there.
True love, this kind was never quite so rare.

A slipshod stitch to bind us two to one
Unsteady hands that twitch to miss their mark
Unravel now, let go this tired lark
Confining hems, this needle-loaded gun
A foot apart, pristine, distant, done.

Impatience prowling lion-like for prey
Combatted now with sweet and softest kiss
But though we run, so pursued just as swift
When ending can be no more kept at bay
Painted black, so nothing to display.

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