You're afternoon, my love,
and I'm forenoon,
and the twix between
burrs our saddle.
Eros, on your high steed,
we beseech your Olympian authority
to make mutual our latitudes
so next when the clock strikes twelve
our eyes, yours and mine, my love
shall meet within that same hour,
and there we'll dine upon the other.
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
You're afternoon, my love,
and I'm forenoon,
and the twix between
burrs our saddle.
Eros, on your high steed,
we beseech your Olympian authority
to make mutual our latitudes
so next when the clock strikes twelve
our eyes, yours and mine, my love
shall meet within that same hour,
and there we'll dine upon the other.
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