While all secret loves be made public
Let all who have found love of my tribe,
And he who has never lov'd, declare how toxic
But who can ever tame love's growing ferns,
Or hold a trend of thought in her arms?
Their horses raced by as we made love.
We are wild, my pursuers and I
I-- of passion, they-- my demise strove
And I, one step ahead; They, two behind;
Montages and Copulates alike blind.
Peace sleeps where Jules lay.
No chase tonite, no need to run.
How long till I lose her, how long till I pay?
Copyright © macalurs 2007