Sunday

Do you understand if you’re beautiful
To me, then you within me grows? – This, you,
Know when my mind cedes to some comely pull
An overpowering poignancy yields true.
What more to say of what this is to me:
A wounding lance, laced thorns upon my heart
That yields sharp light, true light to this degree
That all you were is live in every part?
So I transform you into truest bliss:
Remaking me, you smile and laugh, then go,
To sew upon my mind a seedling kiss
That even as you go this stays, you grow.
So leave if you must for this stays behind
Within this flower spread within my mind.