| forgive me please but do repeat what youve said
|
| while its fresh in your head
|
| the way those consonants stretched
|
| before you forget
|
| wait there thats it just
|
| at the split of your lips
|
| before your tongue gives to lisp
|
| wearing that sweet sinful slip
|
| spins a crippling ellipse
|
| a swell of strings sing neath
|
| the pleats of my dress
|
| and speeds what beats neath my breast
|
| into the song they suggest
|
| taps traces of wet
|
| (oh wait that shape did make conducting the wave)
|
| they phrase this endless refrain
|
| and for the next several days
|
| im braced neath the waist
|
| creased of these sheets
|
| in half a sleep it seems to speak through me
|
| the sweet symphony
|
| might simply be the sound of space between
|
| conceived of where we meet
|
| might your proximity then cease to restrict
|
| that which exists of such bliss
|
| where that it rings of all things
|
| with strict consonance
|
| bless me with breath lest we forget
|
| what you said
|
| to loose this noise in my head
|
| for that in flesh unto death
|
| might we seamlessly blend
|
| and should i pass away
|
| i pray a tape be lain upon my grave
|
| and these sweet remains may play that melody
|
| to say whats left between these knees at ease |