All You
These evanescent words that I deem
they are for you to preserve
A poet or not...my art
reflexive or naught
it's for your heart,
your fluttering trembling innards
that sway with this__
unkind perusal
my refusal
my fears
my loves
it is for your heart
and your innards,
for your searching eyes
and tender mouth
It's all your being, your unkind perusal
for this may stir naught
but your heart
your fluttering, trembling innards.
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