Take my hand and hold it gently
Take my heart and don't let go
Take my soul on a journey
Only you and I will know

Love me like there's no tomorrow
Make me yours forever more
Love me wholly and completely
Every fault and every flaw

Make my knees buckle with kisses
So my mind forgets it all
Make love to me, mind and body
And, in love with you I'll fall

To me you were the stars.
Illuminating my world.
But to you I was a satellite.
Just passing by.

If that's what I am.
What you will me to be.
Let me soar into your world.
I the satellite, Your beacon,
Have come back around to show you.
I'll be more than what you could ever fathom.

I wish I could find the book titled you,
The haphazard bounded and embroidered
Cover with pages spilling golden rue
And blurred lines under every lovely word…
But I don’t know where to look anymore
Or if my heart wants to ache like it did.
I couldn’t burn the secrets or foreswore
And forget the love seared on my eyelids…
But my thrum is in the eyes of a man,
Laced in every vein, waiting on his lips
Like a drug deal not according to plan
And your relapse stinging like poison whips.
     I’ve held and been held by this book in dreams
     And secret studies full of rouge sunbeams.
     Perhaps this diversion is what I needed;
     Maybe someday I'll learn to stop the bleeding?

I see her in hooded head
Walking by in the night
The dusked shadows dewy in thought

Rumors fill my inquirious desires
As she transcends the vacuous light
Dare not I to ask where you go

She fills me full of fright

But alluring to me like catalepsy
Mewing the cats-eye of my discontent
Then around upon the angled corner

My phantasmagoria bent

Sleep, darling
I have a small
daughter called
Cleis, who is

like a golden
flower
I wouldn't
take all Croesus'
kingdom with love
thrown in, for her

---

Don't ask me what to wear
I have no embroidered
headband from Sardis to
give you, Cleis, such as
I wore
and my mother
always said that in her
day a purple ribbon
looped in the hair was thought
to be high style indeed

but we were dark:
a girl
whose hair is yellower than
torchlight should wear no
headdress but fresh flowers

Scaffolders grimly
work in Whitehall raising up
hopes of a hanging..