Adoration in scatter'd pieces,
Freckle there, that fickle likeness,
The structure same never seizes,
Same glass, same self, same digest—
In our house we have many rooms,
The halls would bear such glories sight,
A window stained, love's colors zoom,
My adoration thick stuck, fits right—
A poet's life nailed to the wall,
Affection just seems out of place,
But from th' forte my bosom calls,
See my closet heart bear th' paint'd grace—
Th' image of my hand clutch'ng for you—
Why this image? Why my hand?
Why would bare love such pigment hue,
Because it's th' love my heart demands.
It's my dark hand clutching for you—
I want your heart, I need your heart—
It's th' formula I spill my work into—
I want you— I won't be apart—
I want you near me til I die,
I'll earn your heart or fore'er try.
