Iris
Nights and days bright as an Iris in May. The pupil is not my Concern now. Your pure flexible Iris is able to swallow the sky And my face in an instant. I’ll Grant you my face if you grant Me the sky – we could see for Miles atop those clouds of white. We could tell jokes to the angels In flight, tease them about real Love, its modern triumph, and How the statistics lie – so long As you grant me the sky!
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