Oh
the music, love. I trip into morning blue, a touch of
blue
waves, even a blue sword. I’m crucified, love; and
death
is courting. I see you to perish a low beat…ever
so
frantic…ever a drumbeat. I’m treble for light, to
sculpt
a method—of more worth than flowers. We
rapture—picture
perfect, and semi-aloof. We wrangle
over
tears, a patch of wildfire, a cage of jaybirds. I love
for
ache…you love for pain—adrift a seashore. Its
marble,
love; and more surreal, a star sheared in grass.
It’s
our names, and starlit passions, and starry skies.
I’m
Robert Green…and you’re Simone—quasi-afraid.
I’m
a Kennedy, dearly connected, to jet a kiss. We
fall
a bed, to claim it gray, a paradise of jewels. So
chuckle,
love; bright-eyed and moving, akin to Wisdom.
Was
it us, a shower of firewood, a patio trestle? I
hear
it for rest, a secure cry, filled with fever. I’m
rhapsodic,
love; ever for challenge, a man for words.
