There are fortunes of me
I dare not to unfold
Stacked pleasures packed in salt
My goodwill ever sold

I am the flower of nuisance
I hear it low in her voice
The ‘ns’ less defined
Than the moment of choice

Still it lands, though broken I be
Arbitrary victim of time
Me less remembered
And her more divine

I am the bastard
Born of purpose and note
Dirty and marred
Eyes choke in my smoke

And bloomed by design
Till its taken away
She has her revenge
Prelude in the May

Run, bounce…
…And return
Bring me the meaning
Of intervals to display

Where as I… well…
I am soon undone
Her body becomes mine
Torn apart by my glade

And now light grows short
And winter is made.
But she is my forgiveness
Though I brought her my death
Her blood on my arms
Her love on my breath