Tuesday, 22 August 2017

This love

It has its own direction now
If before I mastered the fringes
Now I'm hapless sail
In the winds of your majesty

Why is it my fragments
That must entice you
Mere echos of interest
But I cannot dilute nature

Must I quiet the passion
As this will not map your path
Just quell the moment
Each meeting transitory

Can the wildness be anchored
Each ache somehow transmuted
So it is not asymmetric
But ongoing in its journey


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