My love is all my heart
but it is sorrow that lays
upon my breast, dissolving
the amorous quest in particles
of doubt and crystalline scars,
murmuring words and melodies
woven out of fond black stars.

My love is all my dreams
but it is fear that ties my mind
and eyes, galloping my fractured
skies, whipping my hesitant soul
in this ungrammatical nightmare,
spurring me on to this abyss of
sick roses and despair.

My love is all my world
but it is just another day on the
ground and he can’t hear me,
my heart doesn’t make any
sound. And he can’t see my
legs and velvet dress, he is
blind to my beauty and maybe
to my loving caress.

My love thinks my lips are easy
and my hands are cheap toys,
a nest of naughty cowboys.

My love is still my love
though I had long forgotten all
our gentle joys.

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