TrueloVe
Take me, I’m yours,
heart, soul, the windows, the doors.
The hair on my head,
the garden shed,
the walls, the floors,
the sweat from my pores.
The depth of my being,
my eyes, all seeing,
my legs, my knees, the leather settees,
my tortured soul,
my cute little mole.
Take my troth and quietly plight it,
my smouldering passion and ignite it.
Take the bread from my mouth,
I’ll want no more.
The wood from the trees,
the sea from the shore
and, when all that’s left is one dust mote,
please, take it all but - leave the remote!
#newpoem #Honza Cataract / Stevo Owens Nik Larcombe
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