Give me all of your words,
Mr. Wright.
I’ve come to collect them
And pretend they are
My own.
I’m no soldier
Nor prince of Ivy,
                  But I would like to

I would.
Give me at least
A few to tangle up
In my mouth,
So I might sound
To some stranger, or lover,
Or both.

Let them believe
In some grand mystery in me;
Some river of great depth
Churning in my gut.

Let them see
To your core.
I will borrow it,
If you don’t resist me.
I will borrow it;
Let them see through me
To your core.
                  Let me breathe for you
                  When you are gone.



© Shea Depmore
Steal money.. not words.


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