Posted on September 21, 2008

Will you not take me? For now I am yours. 
How can I remain in this estate forevermore? 
In verdant lands of naiveté, near the fields of restraint, 
Where thoughts are imprisoned, and ideas are chained.
Outside are the dogs, who are the masters of your faith.

I will take your hand, and we will go,         
To the filthy land, where true freedom flows, 
From shithole apartments, to shady locales, 
Rusty doors covered with peeling decals.

As you lead me upstairs, at my yearnings you’ll tug, 
As we make love on a bed crawling with bugs. 
The sores itch and pain us, but I know we’re alone. 
They surely won’t find us at this anonymous new home.

We’ll sup on belief, our bellies filled with dreams, 
Your talents the wine, my devotion the cheese. 
And the heat of sweaty skin, and blankets that unfold. 
Will desire be enough to keep out the cruel winter’s cold?

The pantry may be vacant, and the cupboards might be bare, 
The landlord asks his due, but we continue without care.

Waiting for you, on strangers I’ll wait, 
Smiling and serving, collecting the plates, 
Until the night is come, and I return to our lodge. 
You lie on the couch, consumed by the fog –

Exhausted and heaving; this breath may be your last, 
I will stand guard, stroking your left hand. 
For the way of our existence, is with our own courage paved, 
Under the leaky roof then, I know we are saved.

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