Kiss me sweetly, my lady, my muse.
Allow me such grace with the weapon I choose. No pen or sword shall lay and be bound, So long that it’s your eyes that can be found. Caress me so gently, my lady, my muse. Allow me loss, so I can lose. For each gold plated heart shall be on display, And I may still love you while you’re away. Hold me still tightly, my lady, my muse. Let kindness be killed, if your act a ruse. No passion nor dreamer may get very far, If not your cruelties which just are. Poison me swiftly, my lady, my muse. Final confession left on your pews. All torment and love, devotion so slow, Ends in suffering, my fatal beaux.
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Poetry Editor:Emilie Rattner Archives
May 2021
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