What spoonful of sorrow do you bring
Exchange it for medicine
Tell me where your heart weighs
My ear yours always, in all ways.
This is not you, sweet enchantment
Can't be, but for how you are an apogee
Of every man's hope and dream
Seeming or unseemly.
No, this is not thee.
In all your sweet revrie, wise liberty
Your care, and he might wish to love
you
But the full you he does not dare.
Only in your form and shape
That adverts of our heaven ape
But shys from your sweet spell
Inspiring
Too enriching to wish escape.
The only freedom in your following.
Do you not know you are more than
diamonds.
Have I failed you?
More than the sun's gold good bye
I haven't failed you have I.
Some years since our summer, close
But more than most,
More than any other, almost
You colour my idea of love
I colour my idea of love
From the outlines that you left on me.
Your laugh, your wit, my sweet revrie.
Forgive me
If I think I learnt
Something of the art you taught
Learnt in lonliness, an acupuncture of
intimacy
Learnt in sweat where love maps to skin
Forgive, my belief
That you need to be loved easily
Like brushing your teeth.
Like sketches in ink.
Like casserole.
Your relief mapped in touch and breath
Forgive, if you left expecting any
less.
Let me risk this one disappointment
You can't expect most to match your
depth
To see what you see in this world and
the hearts of men
See beyond how they themselves can with
all reflection
You tend the garden well,
Each grows its own direction to your
sun.
The way I loved you for so long as a
canvas for projection.
One of the cleverest men in Britain
once said to me
Another level of understanding is
needed for explanation.
You in gifts explain the art of love by
demonstration.
And if he wears you too full of care.
Call, I'll tell you that I love you,
and ever are my pride
And that for every verse I write
There's a hundred men a tongue tied.
He might want to love you, but love you
he doesn't dare
Leave him to rue and learn, go drop
hankerchief on Mayfair.
No comments:
Post a Comment