Speak softly to me in long fables
and in the sweet myths of your past,
paint some assemblage of your life
that may let this wonder now last.
For I have already wept with you,
for the days you and I were alone,
and of passions that had left you,
when e’en want was not your own.
Speak then wildly of your needs,
’til your love then becomes an art,
and with your unspoken memory,
let this soliloquy spill your heart.
Days between us left unattended
had but caused our lives to drift,
but your ardent words softly made,
now mend the gap of broken rift.
Speak to me now in passion play,
for only I hold the light you seek,
let your intent be strewn undone,
that with abandon now you speak.