Perhaps

I suppress the need

to lead you

in and on.

I lock you out,

leave you there

confused.

You see,

there are a hundred

love hungry souls to feed.

Each with a growing greed

for just a glance,

perhaps.

A chance

perhaps.

A sweeping touch in dance

perhaps.

When your dreaming want

engulfs the real,

when i’m graced with tears

upon your kneel,

when we lose our minds

and subscribe to love,

when there is nothing else we are thinking of,

I will keep my thoughts

between the lines.

They will not run

or smudge

or spill.

I’ll suppress the obsession

that makes us ill.

Won’t lead you on.

Won’t chase the end.

Won’t copy, feign or play pretend.

I want the start.

To start again.

As after that will come the rain.

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