My pigeon heart
I must have drawn you
and hewn you from stone,
murmured limpid into the chiselled
marble of your ear and
brought you into existence.
I will rest in the Milky Way
of your arms, and I do not think
that you will tear the crepe of my soul
with clumsy words or hands.
I have tied my torn ribbon
faith to you that you will not
pock me with marks of criticism
or mock me once you have raised me up
on the berries of your love.
And I have seen how shade
can eclipse all light at the furthest stretch
of my spirit, so you would not break
my pigeon heart, would you?
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