Scurrying.

My dear heart has merely longed and lonelied',
The night, my heart has been drawn to,
The moon it's porch lamp.
And had I not seen the black ocean of the late hour,
I would not know what it is to love.

Contented, somehow, am I, to be even disgraced and abysmal in silence,
To be endlessly boundless,
To find that I have rested in the only arms I know how to,
I hang my sheets upon the banister, only to see scarlet spread,
Oh to bleed into the water!

Upon that bench we sat, and how my eyes stayed upon you,
All over you,
How night gave the cool breath night gives,
The slow breath night gives.
I guessed I would never crawl to your side and writhe into sleep.

Pieces of flowers swill in the fountain,
It is a quiet park we have yet to walk in, but we will,
And night, it shall be.
Sea air, we shall breathe. I just want the horizon,
I just want the dawn to sway us to sleep, to dance us upon the promenade.

I may spend my time putting the pieces of him together,
I could perhaps be found in the window, painting,
That bleeding colour, that grey quiet of an English morning.
My brush nuzzling the veins of he,
Those eyes alway asking.

I see the beauty you know,
Of him, in my shadow.
Oh pale morning light,
Give his skin more life!
And yet, bitter evening glare,
Puts such romance in his sweet stare.