I had you dear...

Green was the foliage, indeed, was it lush green - I remember it well, but seemed it like a meadow to me, a bed so soft on my skin that did my eyes close in a long time.

'Twas no fatigue of my life my dear for has it so oft been onerous deep in my veins.

'Twas no aloofness that did my ears hear the swish of the zephyr falling delicately on my lips, no, was it not for has loneliness been just this shadow for me.

Rambled I with such futility, seeking just a body other than mine regardless of how distant from me, and clicked my fingertips only against each other.

Must you see my love, was I by the wayside once more, all by myself. I can promise now. 

Stood my moccasin merely inches of two feet from the ledge, and swear I by the night we shared - were they my enticements for one more time. 

'Twas some sweet semblance did my heart seek that the bruise underneath hooded a moleskin I wore felt merely warm with love of thy heart. How could I resist? 

I certainly could and crashing all lies that hover betwixt our bodies, must I tell thou 'twas low a pedestal for both my feet, the weight of having to set thou free from my mind did pull me down on me knees. Pondered I "we had it almost".

Just a stare up yonder in arrant vain, a little beyond the cerulean shade of the night sky, all lit with stars - the shine of its sapphire, was I yet to be a stargazer?

Too rough was the fabric of my coat - Can thee tell now why refused my hands to be kept in?

Was woven a tapestry with chintz of silk inside the pockets, yet drew they so sharp a secant could my fingers only bleed. How could I keep them in? 

My milieu getting only colder and colder with that quick lapse of seconds too swiftly driven for me, touched I the parapet as stumbled I upon a pavement so rugged, barely keeping my hands clean. Was the bar only metal and was it nothing but cold. 

Ah! how my eyes died seeking hands of thine. I would have asked for just one touch and no more. Must thee tell me when it becomes too much for thee to hold, will I leave them the moment thou dislike this skin of mine.

Oh! shall I speak of this body of mine or shall I not? Has it been no more than a prerogative of mine, one had I not yet learnt to utilise. Can a soul be found to teach me? Will thou be so kind?

Oh! let alone this mind of mine. I do not want to talk of them. Why do you ask?

Let alone this echelon of mine. Never did I demand for it. Why do you give?

Hear me my love for art thine ears the ones I find, as rests thy head on these shoulders of mine too heavy. Hear me my love for if comes thy denial now, will I be ransacking in a labyrinth all by myself.