| It has occurred to me my love
|
| I never asked if you would sit for me
|
| I was so taken by you and swept away
|
| I never asked if it would be okay
|
| And this volume that I have drawn out
|
| The binding wears and pages frail
|
| Now tear between my touch
|
| Diaphanous and whisper light
|
| I clutch and turn with fever’d hand
|
| And pray that I may grace you
|
| In a way that you will somehow understand
|
| I try my best with solemn care
|
| To capture all I see of you, so fraught, so fair
|
| Are my words worthy of your ways?
|
| I ask this of myself, lo, these fanatic days
|
| And this language making use of me
|
| As yet may be unknown to human sound
|
| And dwelling in the space between
|
| With all unspoken and unseen
|
| Unquantifiable, profound, not in, not of
|
| Up, down, nor lost nor found
|
| And oh, as I soften on the vine
|
| Darkly sweet I’m held to linger
|
| Where the beauty of the season
|
| Turns from gold to bitter grey
|
| And oh, what aching colors you have spun
|
| Around me where the grinding hum of sameness
|
| Held me just above
|
| Where I kept my heart at bay
|
| Where I kept my heart at bay
|
| Until, against my will
|
| It chose to languish here upon your face
|
| I kept this dove cupped in my palm
|
| I spit blood upon the pearl the grey the white
|
| Thrown back into the yawning flame
|
| To flash and mold a crucible of my device
|
| And what figure comes forth from the molten pit?
|
| A form hath shone by mine own hand, my eye
|
| Captured on a linen sprung
|
| And taut and stretched and ready rip’t
|
| With gentle strokes and longing writ
|
| And wrought with fits and fainting
|
| And YOU, sweet phantom of my making
|
| And oh, as I soften on the vine
|
| Darkly sweet I’m held to linger
|
| Where the beauty of the season
|
| Turns from gold to bitter grey
|
| And oh, what aching colors you have spun
|
| Around me where the grinding hum of sameness
|
| Held me just above
|
| Where I kept my heart at bay
|
| Where I kept my heart at bay
|
| Until, against my will
|
| It chose to languish here upon your face
|
| It has occurred to me my love
|
| I never asked if you would sit for me
|
| I was so taken by you and swept away
|
| I never asked if it would be okay
|
| I never asked if it would be okay |