Let Me Tell You This
Before you leave me, my darling,
let me tell you this. When we met,
I was stolen words and borrowed
phrases. Bruised in colour and wretched
Harsh character, bent on self
harm and ruined chances. But,
you became my credo, my Saint
to be adored, breathlessly calm
Your lips were the gateway to
pristine zephyrs and alluring tone.
You were my dress code for the
day and my hair cut for the month.
You were my daily meals and supported
causes. My earth, moon and the space
inbetween. When you walked, your shape
was my thrill. And your coetish lure, my torch
Your eyes were my caves to mine, and your
beauty my arete to climb. Your sun kissed
soul, burned through my clouds, and your
caring thoughts mastered my informal grudge
Your smile became my beeline. And your
grace lifted away the dark taste of grey
from my mouth, and replaced it with
coloured worth
When you leave me, let me know when
you have returned. Drop a cup or fuse a
light, and I shall know you didn't leave me
after all.
And I shall set the table again. Cut my
hair and change my clothes again. Because
I wouldn't want you to think that I had
stopped caring for life after you left me
Or that I threw knives at the world, instead of
love. And had so easily forgotten the messages
you left to guide me to my end. So, let me tell
you this. You are me and I am you.
And all I ask is this.
That you let me close the door first
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