Ivydale Road

The ivy grew on his heart;
I weeded it from mine.

The ivy grew on his heart,
while mine became sublime.

Our ivy stems aren’t green
but red,
and murderous –
sick in the head!

Their roots are loose
but wound-up, too.
They box each other –
earth their zoo.

To tame them
a back-breaking task
(for light-weight fists
and nervous hearts),

but for the keeper
of their secret,
doors they open.
Love no deeper.

 

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