what mystics that you speak only to me
you speak to me again in such sincere
tone. when you say me were he not once he
who come before me? was his his late masters?
and when we play for real in our dreams
tomorrow is come, and today is long
gone till tomorrow's morrow is hard to bone. seems
more real when we never play with our prey?
take your calm freedom, sharing honest steps
in your starlit drive, lit by dry biege lamps
glowing after into your slow, slow motion quick
stepping down right through your every real fear.
lest your words come before mi ne.
gain speak and not reveal to like.
No comments:
Post a Comment