You can be my notes,
taming the harmonious rhymes
of my songs—
they say my music is tasteless without.
You can be my thoughts,
clashing against my past's prophecies,
their one divine anomaly.
And even be the seconds I desperately chase—
as if they were ransoms of dreams,
that never fade from my memory
since I first had them.
You can be the roses I desire,
with their curtsy petals and deadly thorns
for beauty was the temptress of sinners
hell-bent on keeping it to themselves,
even if it meant
crushing that divinity with their greed,
when it is to slip out of their hands.
Be such muse of mine, darling,
knowing that I am the said sinner,
though I emerge from the kind—
who bows down in honour of your beguiling beauty,
if you were to submit to me, still.
©umclite
U