37 lines
816 B
Text
37 lines
816 B
Text
|
Montana III
|
||
|
|
2021-06-24
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
My physical body
|
||
|
|
cannot hope to constrain
|
||
|
|
or even, for a moment, detain
|
||
|
|
the love I have for you,
|
||
|
|
just deform
|
||
|
|
in hopes of fitting
|
||
|
|
and be okay with leaving me forlorn.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I want to live in eternal spring
|
||
|
|
with you,
|
||
|
|
lover of all things good and true.
|
||
|
|
I want to live where the flowers are always in bloom
|
||
|
|
and the baby birds have just hatched
|
||
|
|
and the sprouts poke out from the soil
|
||
|
|
from the patch
|
||
|
|
in our backyard
|
||
|
|
without hard-
|
||
|
|
ship, without sweat, without toil,
|
||
|
|
without insects that only yearn
|
||
|
|
to bite the skin meant for you to do the same
|
||
|
|
in the night when our hearts burn.
|
||
|
|
My heart sings
|
||
|
|
when you are nearby, my love,
|
||
|
|
and your mere touch is enough
|
||
|
|
to melt the most arctic of snows,
|
||
|
|
the guardian of the missing shard of my soul,
|
||
|
|
my beatific Dead End King.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|