Forever and a day
Does your mind most cruelly play
With the stringlettes of your soul
And the tangents of your bones
Begin
To Bend the wrong way.
Ah, but you scarce was told
Such a thing would happen.
Poor boy.
Twisted like a lump of clay
Patched up like a teddy stuffed of hay.
Rely yourself to the temper
And give upon the air your kisses
And place onto my palm your wishes
To be set Free.