Paths Of Love
M
Mark Heathcote
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Had I walked within your dream
across its wet-regardless sheen
serpentine as a windblown moth
in all its dizzy-hot loves wroth.
Would I fain a far-flung malaise?
Would I dare hold back bouquets?
Walk silently-on washed-out shores
whispering delinquently to be yours,
If divinely now my soul is damned
what lease of time should I now save
but for fallen embers, clammed
in a kernel, evergreens, outbrave.
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