To **** me with poetry
and if that be
my destiny
make the words
tender and
sweet.
Spill out the rhythm,
as I die
let me listen
to the skylarks
that fly from
your lips.
But this is never
forever and all
things will meet,
words joined together
tender and
sweet.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
To **** me with poetry
and if that be
my destiny
make the words
tender and
sweet.
Spill out the rhythm,
as I die
let me listen
to the skylarks
that fly from
your lips.
But this is never
forever and all
things will meet,
words joined together
tender and
sweet.
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