Look who is writing poetry again; ME!
lamentation for priory girls
give me your woven road, paper-daisy girl
and your calloused-conclusions of devotion.
he loves me, he loves me not...
he forgets me not.
oh but he longs to forget thee,
because there is no way
his body fits your puzzle pieces now.
cleaved petals: the shield of a lazy summer sun,
these fragments of longing weep from
sole shaking hands; non-clueless of all the
memories made up [of smoke and mirrors]*.
oh what a happy race of men
that rules the sky with carvings
of divinity, would it rule the making
of my heartstrings instead.
* at first I really liked of smoke and mirrors, now I don’t. Should it stay or should it go?
