Would you meet me To hear me speak Of all truth that will make me weak? Upon my knees, I plead For the faces that stream out to the reeds That bend to the wind, As eyes watch the sun drop from the sky's forehead More afflicted with fever, of blue Than the yellow of Zenith. Greet me, Seat me In the ivory chairs Within Your cruelest lairs. You have watched my heart Quit its beating. You have scolded the mind That has attempted to run a direction Not as dead as our love's duration. I want to watch the sky fall, As truth is to God's lips. Could He kiss you As well as I could When I taste the feverish blue Of you, in the new? Your dreams are as the man Who did not land, While our love does not lie, As we cannot paint the walls with our tears From our heart, Nor our minds, of bloody fears.