Loving you is how the world turns
How the world burns and the willows weep.
What i know
is what the Love yearns
How the love burns more me than
Me Burns.
The stones you keep -
you cannot.
i know,
for i have been in the wind
that won't stop.
Choose your anvil from the fray
and be laid
to such
rest -
That a barter
of Our High Noon
is South of our
Soft June

if nothing else...

Where the Winter
is more
thick
than a thin knick
to a fat vein.
Be more claimed
than my average " Have Me ! "
Get at me
and abandon the  
rude clues
to the whimsy
of Men


Only
the Night"s bitter fabric
of " Almost Love "
and the
rest
a jewel
for the woman
that would
have it.
and The Hell
That would
do the
same.