He taught me the pleasure of discipline,
and he taught me the discipline of pleasure
and though they were as different as winter and spring
they both loved me at my worst
opened their hearts like shoeboxes for a broken bird
craved and cradled the gentle fragility I was
their bruised rose, sweet and imperilled-
My loves, my loves!
Could you have ever loved me at my best?
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
He taught me the pleasure of discipline,
and he taught me the discipline of pleasure
and though they were as different as winter and spring
they both loved me at my worst
opened their hearts like shoeboxes for a broken bird
craved and cradled the gentle fragility I was
their bruised rose, sweet and imperilled-
My loves, my loves!
Could you have ever loved me at my best?
Not a day goes by that I am not grateful. It pains me to know your only memories of us are of such a dark time.
