~Though~
Oh come.
Come to me, thy pretty.
Whilst I sit so
Wrestle mien thoughts from me
while my heart refuses to let them go
words they slither so
meekly though I book-end throw.
Oh come.
These words do grow
obstinate still from my hearts death throe
Beckons mine eyes
rhyme pulses to and fro
Oh come.
And talketh of nothings
So vast... the world...
shall never ever know.
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