Bed Yourself Upon My Verses (Dedicated To Josh, By Mimi C. Mata) Poem by Mimi Mata

I wish for you to bed yourself upon my verses,
For, the passionate tyranny of each line set up it's net
And, in the distance between the parallels of each word,
You will then find me...

Seemingly slipping through your fingers.

And, so if it seems that my time itself cannot applaud,
Your savior hands that have sacrificed throughout lives,
To retrieve my sunken eyes,

Or your saddened lips like restless doves,
That take precautious flight down my barren limbs...

Remember that each night is new,
And I will come again to seek
The light that your bleeding boatman's hands,
Grasp so tightly in order to seek me.

Do not ever forget the verses I write for you...

For, my apologies cast their lines,
Far,
Far,
Far away, in my distance...

To catch my absence pummeled in wave spume,
When a luckless word I had said,
Sent your bleeding boatman's hands wayward:

To retrieve me from drowning my presence; in silence...

So bed yourself upon my verses,
So that in my time of distance
I can feel your lips like saddened doves;

And hear a line of passionate tyranny...
Cast out by your bleeding boatman's hands.