It Isn't To Launder My Clothes Poem by Mark Heathcote

You're my liberator honey,
Your love is white-painted gold
I'm shallow, but you, you're already
Keeping me; from getting cold
Keeping me from drinking moonshine
Honey, the world's got me misdiagnosed.

If I invite an angel back home
It won't be to do my dirty dishes
Or launder my clothes because I can do my own
It won't be for just any coexistence
Honey, I'd rather live my life alone.

In disgrace; with a smile on my sinful, face.
Then share with you anything fictitious
You're my liberator honey,
With two hands to share and hold
I want to feel and uncover every fold.

I'm shallow, but you, you're already
Keeping me; from getting miserably cold
Oh, and your love is white-painted gold
Every night I invite my angel back home
It isn't to launder my clothes because I can do my own.

And it isn't to coexist
My liberating honey,
Because I'd rather, not live my life alone.
Drinking moonshine to keep out the cold
Then to forget your loves white painted gold.