No matter how submissive the night is,
I will originate a succession
of a hundred tones, that all begin with
your melody.
No matter how long my limbs have sat
upon hard, scorching seats,
I will not sprawl flat 'cross my bed
until
I have thought and thought
all I can for you...
Because you have not yet been
captured, in anything but the
greys of memory-
and I will spend the night reflecting
on the person I've come to know,
and the one I wish to combine
days we ran through
secret meadows for us,
on black and white keys
with sunflower's disposition
that speak something of the
new unknown,
No matter how humanly plain
I may seem to you, I will draft
you sand-prints, notes
about to be swimming in ink
as French meters train
and long, prose-like words make
your eyes
indecipherable.
No matter how late the night is,
I won't let it end without the music
of you.
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