Don’t garden my moods
don’t put up my sex for sale
don’t swim in empty pools
walk with me in the city forest
see the branches on the buildings
hate all tv
and urban words
slam me with old English
and forget the poetic slang
you cannot possibly know
or do this for me
don’t do it for me
don’t make me out a liar.
Don’t woo me.
Just forget my language
heritage
my art has many muses.
You are too nice
under that roughness
and I am too rough
under my niceties.

Bloom in silence
Please don’t describe
the color of your soul
so perfectly.

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