Anne

Would you like my hands
 to help you push yourself
 along?
   Don't you want me
   in the city,
   where the hounds won't hunt me down?

  I find you,
 Creature,
in the plateau of my palms.
 While I'm sweating roses I've got music on my tongue.
 
     Would you like
    my hands
  to help your touch connect the dots?
Love me gentle in the city where the sky can't tumble
                                   down. I
                                  like a
                                  pixie of
                                   perennial
                                    romance;
                                    here
                                   and
                                  Ever-sung.

  By and by, on our walks we cite:
   We've got music on our tongues.
    And news for everyone.
 
           No, my darling,
           no sound inept.
           We will sing not every song.
      
         Read my lips, and I'll kiss you back, and we'll pick one for them all.

             Blind in shock;
                   in luck
                     be calm,
            in event we lose our waltz.
   
   Bring your nights back to the city where
    I won't let you down.
     Take a vow and cast a spell on the plateau of the war
      Come inhabit God with me.
       My dear, this is where we're strong.
        We've been left with what's been found as done.
         We're immune to what we saw.