Of Muses And Other Ghosts
Writing, To Make Your Skin Stop In My Palms
I'm sorry for such simple poems
but I do not aim to hide you, in
complicated words, or labyrinthic verses.
If you do not understand my heart, that
I love you still, not out of an obsession
but because you, for me, have wings,
if you do not believe me, or worst
if I'm disgraceing you too much, if
you are ashamed of my childish love,
do not keep your scented lips silent.
I will avoid putting poems in your palm,
crushing your chest with guilt,
writing my name on you, out of pride
to make your skin my territory.
I will stop erecting the walls of castle
around you, and I will lay down
what I have already built.
If that is your only desire, if
you want me mute, this will be
not my last, but the last page
I will sharpen on your heart.
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