He and I
We invariably decay,
From too much infatuation.
It’s the pedigree you pay for loving the absolute lariat, who’s contemplative, pensive and glorious, above.
Leaves you for days, to not consider, or shun
Every move is spoken clear,
get better and climb the rudder’s rear so that you can fall down the steps.
We, don’t side with another
Hold a hunk of him, always near
The tranche, hidden under the sofa
My dear opus
Forgotten in fear.