deepundergroundpoetry.com
Would you rather
Open,
Yourself,
To me.
Like the wings of a bird,
or his lips to chirp.
The clouds which he herds,
or wind which his feathers
flirt.
Where your arms are released,
your fingers do not retreat.
Where your pupils dilate,
and your lips
separate.
May your heart divide to divisions,
and your love submit to my submissions.
Where the only thing that matters is our matter,
even if you shatter and scatter.
Why
Do some scatter when there’s flatter,
I would rather
matter.
Would you rather
Open,
Yourself,
To me.
Yourself,
To me.
Like the wings of a bird,
or his lips to chirp.
The clouds which he herds,
or wind which his feathers
flirt.
Where your arms are released,
your fingers do not retreat.
Where your pupils dilate,
and your lips
separate.
May your heart divide to divisions,
and your love submit to my submissions.
Where the only thing that matters is our matter,
even if you shatter and scatter.
Why
Do some scatter when there’s flatter,
I would rather
matter.
Would you rather
Open,
Yourself,
To me.
Published 3rd Nov 2013
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