Authentic
AUTHENTIC
There should be a doorway to love -
Some scabbard-hungry sabre to declare
What is not mine, is yours
Bawling infant of the bawdy air,
Trinketing loneliness into the poor’s
Ardent threshold set with jewels rare -
Beryl and ruby; a diamond lures
Only the owner and not the loved pair.
Be one with the child of my cures
You are, you are the authentic heir.
Be with me, child of the midnight hours,
Be thou my confession in the mode of care.
Love me to death, my own creative power,
Be my own child, beyond compare.
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