untitledThe composition of your stars,
The slow tremble of a climactic burn-
We love the ways that she shines,
I love the way that you shine.
The composition in your stars,
Lines, pathways, we were
Falling in place as a rifled spiral.
Long before we had been born
The writing had been on the wall.
But I had been blind for oh so very long,
How I had been blind for oh so long.
all saints' dayLaudatus sum, sed interfectus sum,
Nunc ab hosti ipsis laudatus ero.
Woken up in the morning, in Bruges
By the gray fuzz and afterglow, to the sound of drums-
Two clicks of a light switch,
Showered, filled mug, and out the door
To greet the coming day.
So go there now, in Chelsea boots, in Bruges
To the muddy banks of the Rhine,
Where you, my Charlemagne
Would like to hold me down and under,
by and down on the riverbed.
But red, red, the tanner's knife,
And the muddy banks of the Rhine,
Beneath the water's silent whirls,
There I would have thought to dare
To throw my ball and chain against the muddy undertow
Moving only as the current would,
But only if I'd dared.
But you'd know that I had loved you
And will love you,
And I would guide you by the waters,
And I too would write my own words in its surface,
While exiled in this vale of tears.
Slowly while the vines creep across the peristyle,
We'd go together there (hand in han