Do not lend me your hand,
instead, lend me your money,
shared income, insurance,
and ownership of land.
Pin me not to the bed,
but instead, to your catalogue
of meek suggestions
for which shirt I should wear.

Do not lend me your ear,
instead, give me your money
so that I can cheapen love
and reduce it to some teenage tear.
Keep me not in your heart,
instead a part, of no sum,
of zero character,
yet adoration for my hair.

Do not lend me your friendship,
instead, hand over your cash.
I will pour your drinks - and smile,
should you not forget to tip.
Think of me not as a man,
or a tan of skin, of freckle
and violence,

but of tomorrows and histories combined,
blurred memories of childhoods past,
torrents of joy that pass so fast,
all dues paid in my sparrow heart,
weak upon my childhood's start,
when with love, came unending pain,
a heart overcome in the heavy rain.
For, with a heart so tiny,
and bounded in flesh,
chained to the body
and thus, to distress,
I found my heart to be feeble,
and harried in grief,
for there is far too much longing,
in a lifetime so brief.