The swing.

He's part of the swing

From the time I lay there

With his lovely lover

And he watched,

Took a picture.

Then again, years later

When he came to visit

My home newly made

Whose only grain contained

By former selves

Was this, our abandoned playground

Strung from past to present.

An exotic chorus unforeseen

Forged for me the sign

Of our befores before:

And now it holds me lonely,

With arms stronger than his.

They are willing to cradle

This broken girl,

Yet swing oblivious

To the insular magic

Born to me on that spot

On that day, when loving

Spliced her objects, made me green,

Only to curl up and round

In the squirming of years

And chance upon

My sword's swipe, still true.

Collisions of hearts

Take little time

To find the topoi

Of exquisite pain;

One hard waxen rope

Of yearning.