Words,
I placed you on the shelf,
in a wooden box
to lie and rest.
"Shh," I said,
"don't whisper in my ear."
I am sad and disillusioned,
I've been beaten and
I no longer want to tend to
your garden,
nor laugh with you,
or carry you in my soul.
Do not wake me
from my sleep to unfold beauty
at my feet.
I have locked my doors and windows,
to keep you outside,
wash you in the rain,
bake you in the sun.
I tell you that
I won't dance with you,
I won't dance with you,
and then
I watch the crimson sun,
I watch the crimson sun,
I feel you breathing on my skin
and I let you back in.
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