to fault the poet
Well you call it what you want
'cause you can’t call it what it is.
As the hounds wait at the gate
for you to come and let them in.
Is not love without it's proper name,
a crime that is committed free of sin?
If it is wise to fault the poet
your tongue is sharp, your words obscene.
If I am tainted in your eyes
know I was once a centerpiece.
Should you hold in your apprehension
I will not ask if I am free.
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