The Cut-short Lives of Leah Marie (1987-2018) and Stanford White (1853-1906)

  
 
   
Who's love loves genuine?genuine to who's love love love?  
Who's the  
                  genuine gentle genius  
                                             who's writing this  
                                                                          love song  
                                                                                         and has  
                                             nothing to do to do to do wit love, neither  
                                      intimate, nor brOtherly,  
                            by spitting, hissing  ~ I love you ~  at every tacit turn.  
   
I see them on the sacred subway, from Coney Island to Washington Square,  
(and sometimes further than farther than that that can be known). There we sat.  
 Amiably rumble-clacking with the Sea Beach Express, from Coney, then Ft. Hamilton, (Stella's), and on to Manhatta...........  
   
Who was that bla'guard twittling his Flute out there, on The Square, beneath   the Arch of Sanford White's grand design from that sweet Gilded Age?  
   
Why, by golly, it was Me ! (Flute. Remember?)........dear Leah Marie  
was there with me  
was there with me  
was there with me, alive as could she be, in the days when there were seemingly  
more Bright Moments than in any form of Now.  Now Leah's DEAD, and my heart has  
broken "me" into uncountable pieces, and of criminal pro'portions, no less.  
   
Oh dear, o'fckn dear.....maybe i'll stop whining when I AM DEAD. ( Or m'be nex'year)   Haha! Haha!  
   
                                                           ( but don't count on it, pleas)    
   
   
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