In the time it takes you,
To breathe in,
To breathe out,
I leave a thousand times, or more,
For you, of course,
For you.
Every defining virtue,
My heart,
My hands,
I bleed from these, stigmata and sores,
For you, of course,
For you.
These things I cannot give,
Only hold them,
Only keep from you,
Not out of jealously, but in remorse,
For you, of course,
For you.
In the time it takes you,
To turn away,
To walk away,
I die a thousand times or more,
For you, of course,
For you. |