Image result for van gogh sun

What I do to her by doing nothing

Is more than anyone has ever done.

I was a rare flower she held.

Now I am the sun.

I am silent and far away,

No longer kissing her ear

And telling her how lovely she is.

Now she sees me every day

But I no longer move near

And say exactly what I’m thinking.

I am a blank face of simple fire,

No longer allowed to feel, or think, or have desire,

But like my cunning poetry which everybody reads,

I love her with an appetite that forgets it has needs.

She is courted by a distant sky and distant fields

Which love her only by being there. And she yields.



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