A Meandering Line of Thought

[Lover]

And this the King of Swords do cut so well
Might all I's and the tender flesh foresee
Beyond that bucolic aspect of dwell
Leave assured (and confederate banshee)

I know well the sound; lament sweeties make
Pulled asunder they cling to solution
Creaky Kafkaesque promises of wake
In brains ill-equipped for absolution.

True the worm eats as the earth devours
All that is inessential to the soul
Stripped bare I will glimmer joy in powers
Encrypt the reunion when swallowed coal!

Little self be not the melancholy
Player; dance about sans idle dolly.