You tell me your stories

the bittersweet longings

the places you’ve taken

all your other



You walk in my gardens,

misplaced in the wandering,

I kiss all your skin,

make love like your dreams.

Wake up you innocent lover!

I’ll never be anything

like what you think that you need.

I’ll only be

what you know you’ve come for.

It’s always a  measure of kindness

how much can I take from your soul.

I’m not expecting a miracle,

but we’ve never wanted to grow old.

I’m not as steady as rainfall

I don’t balance so well on the edge.

I’ll twist and I’ll twirl

flying down past the turrets,

until the cobblestones cradle my head.


Romantics never live to a ripe old age.  And when they do, they are as wise as Fuck.


#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.

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