Out of time
No one minds
On the windows
Like the sound
Of rain in the summer.
I am sure
You heard it
If my heart is bound to swerve one day;
thou shall never let go of my hand;
nor mourn in the shade of the cypress tree,
for I need thine soul to understand.
Thou shall not seek another,
only hearth shall warm you in rain
Thou shall not hear a nightingale,
lest its song might put you in pain.
Thou shall be the bamboo that bend,
or a field of golden wheat that sway;
haply forthwith the fate shall lend
back to thy arms, I come next day.
Hold my hand and take me home.
I will find my heart
where you left it
I will rinse it clean
sew it back into my chest
I will buff the scars
and watch as it inhales
I will be fully alive
I will detach it from my veins
and lay with you again
— The End —