From the corner of eyes,
Not even seeking, and still pressed together.
As if flowers in mother's firm books.
I fear finding one of rumor of your quiet Bloom
would make me collapse,
where should my head fall after crafting those
levees on your lap?
Watch My Dawn rise carefully, upon warm hairs
of the crown's childish head,
as if knowing, then suddenly quite carelessly showing.. and showing
How our light splendidly crept from the curtains,
quite clear off to bed,
and up to the wall.
How can it be told you did not feel it at all?
Our separate ice boxes may fit us well, for I am not afraid
to be alone, to be fed alone.
Learned to pave this path of my own silken tread.
Now you slump our shoulders
just to say it is better,
now we can make ourselves
happy (as nothing),
and you think it works.