well, i might like to linger
but
all its beauty is a guise
can’t wrap me round its finger
i
trace your face of supple grace
and dance within your arms
the
darkest night cannot erase
your laughter and your charms
i
call upon the muse of love
to sing a song for you
a
song of love that’s sung by doves
could not give you your due
this
poet dreams of fancy schemes
of music, rose and wine
and
tables with embroidered cloth
and china that is fine
cause
words cannot escape my mouth
when i’m without a breath
the
worship due the beauty you,
your name my shibboleth
the
heart departs devoid of art
without your presence found
then
you return and i relearn
the joy that can’t be bound
i
find the gist of every list
both void and incomplete
if
you’re not numbered at the top
cause nothing can compete
with
the beauty you possess
so rare it’s undefined
in
throne rooms i am just a guest
in presence of divine
***
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