Only secret muteness kills a loving heart

whilst lone raining time drips through memory bounds;
a flying wing of a long skirt woven with a tart
flash from the past—aflare dance, moving sounds;
if I could wear for thee the same covert mask
we’d fly our carnival tale to its dream end
bridging skies set apart with the last ray of dusk
foiled with flame red of an effigy; pretend
it burns for all sins locked silent with lost keys
of a never written play that wakes thee
in a trance that writes thy verses with an ease
but doth forge soul’s right to lovers endless sea;
Whether God loves or hates, love is on its way–
Art thou sick of the game that turns gain into ney?


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