i may bleed for you, but you have too...
i mean, by that... we have wars spinning wounds within us
before we let another, havoc our tranquilities -
before the heat of glowing brands have risen from the hot coals
of your dove wet eyes... Yea, i may be stammering -
but my murmurations maroon the realities of lost conviction
and in my place stands my name on a hard target.
i may bleed for you, but you have too...
you're slow in the woods where briar lurks on rat feet.
and it always rains
when
you go
to the
Fair

i bleed,
when you go
to the
Fair.