I am a white spirit, An incandescent mist in your garden, Below your window With pale face staring up, And I wonder how you cannot sense my yearning. It's an internal energy,
There's a blackbird, And it's flying between the trees, Hedgrows bowing and whining, Against the momentary weight Of cartilage and feathers. With a beak full of leaves
It is white and luminescent, unshadowed by the darkness of the night. It folds itself into the thick bowls of black liquid, A star against the filmy skin of la nuit. A prey to the outside,
I have the hands of a Doctor Come here, hold my hand Let me whisper in your ear A plethera of delicate secrets, Trails of words, strings of light Told and retold a thousand times over,
You will never know just how beautiful you really are to me, Because you can't feel it, The way your fingertips tiptoe Unbegotten across my skin Timid as snowflakes