As a mouse that suddenly died in your palm
I’ve no strength to indulge in this fender.
Could I ever predict I would live on the balm
Fertilizing fresh wounds, so untender?
Oh, dead-scared to think over common disguise
Which conceals my immaculate being.
Greyish pupils with inherent twitch of the skies
Are already too blind of foreseeing.
Every single step forward is teasing the knife
And disturbing the peace of God’s soil.
Hell and heaven mean less than political strife
If you borrowed your heart from gargoyles.
No more glances of arrogant fervour to flick,
Unencumbering hints to arouse...
I am sure whenever you learn I am weak,
You’ll be petting and kissing thy mouse.
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