Monday, 19 September 2011

The Fugue


You sleep as I measure,

Two inches from my heart,
To the prison of my ribs,

Two inches from my ribs,
To the softness of your back.

And three long steps more
To the chamber of your heart.

And if my beat ever lost
Your flowing counterpoint,

What sad fugue would that be,
What sad melody?

1 comment:

Fresh Garden said...

Wonderful! Awesome!

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