You may be the subject
today.
You be the cause of the effect
today.

"What do you read, my lord?"
"Words, words, words."

They sound together,
fall trippingly [off] the tongue
but not for you
tomorrow.
When I my laptop collapse,
when I this file save
you are not required.
Dear muse,
she'll tease you and haunt you
and fill your bed a while
Don't think I'd leave my muse for you
Don't think a single poet would
Don't think these words haven't been played,written, written
written to Death
And they'll be wrote
(again, again)
till He is our
Bedfellow.