Would you deem me cretinous for negligence,
or find endearment in the faux paus?
Demand I wreath myself in crimson as proof,
suffocate you in flower’s sweet perfumery?
Would these letters satisfy that cavernous void,
spell love loud enough without uttering the word?
Can these hands build a world big enough,
While still being well versed in rapture?
Must I cleave the shadows from my face?
What’s underneath palls to that within.
Shall every dance burn our loins,
drench the stench of conquerment?
Would you have me be everything I’m not,
forsake the only road this heart has trod?
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