Cloaking
I drip this passion O' mine,
Into the depth of the cup you hold nearest to you.
And the bull inside makes my flesh swell,
Not catatonic,
Just in suspension,
And always in suspicion.
Part of my ill-borne mind creates an image of reluctance,
And I give it to you,
As a gift.
Not much further now and I'll be completely aware,
Aware of the notions you so cleverly curtained around my head,
So I see no evil.
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