Tuesday, March 6, 2012

sonnet eighty five

i find you in the middle of
the night tiptoeing through
my own darkness, and loving
the webbed thoughts you

find in there, gathering the
nightmares that tainted
my sleep and putting them
underneath what you called

beautiful, telling me again
and again - in a whisper
or a scream, that you

deem my flaws that which
make me perfect, all that
which make me yours.

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