better to fly from my snare
November 2019
I.
I want only you; for others I do not care.
Come home with me
To my poor and humble abode.
Perhaps we shall fall in love when our defiant defenses do unfold.
II.
Old rhymes of poets not of gods
Out of billions we have found ourselves what of the odds?
“She is asleep now,” I do of thee say
The worlds of offenses shall not disturb our day.
III.
You are not the first person to observe my eyelids giving away
My extensively pulsing eye pupils
My uneven breath
A man at the gallows awaiting death
And plucked from my ruin
You kindly appeared
in that you do not find me silly nor stupid nor frail or fopich and clumsy my Dear
IV.
Desperate heart
Turbulent mind
Perhaps we will be heart-stricken
In some mathematical equated time
The odds prey against this
Against togetherness in name and in form
Against vows
Against first kisses against blushing against hands held
This the methodical trick to quiet any storm.
November 2019
I.
I want only you; for others I do not care.
Come home with me
To my poor and humble abode.
Perhaps we shall fall in love when our defiant defenses do unfold.
II.
Old rhymes of poets not of gods
Out of billions we have found ourselves what of the odds?
“She is asleep now,” I do of thee say
The worlds of offenses shall not disturb our day.
III.
You are not the first person to observe my eyelids giving away
My extensively pulsing eye pupils
My uneven breath
A man at the gallows awaiting death
And plucked from my ruin
You kindly appeared
in that you do not find me silly nor stupid nor frail or fopich and clumsy my Dear
IV.
Desperate heart
Turbulent mind
Perhaps we will be heart-stricken
In some mathematical equated time
The odds prey against this
Against togetherness in name and in form
Against vows
Against first kisses against blushing against hands held
This the methodical trick to quiet any storm.
