Debbie’s Poem (Sweet Bell)

Come, Sweet Bell of a Girl,

Help this spread of my peal

Simply put:

I wage this for real; I stage a play of things

Around the well; she feels it, now, how I hoped

She’d feel—No matter how deep the well

She reels in my thrall—(my knell)

 

A shelter of myself below,

Thirsty, I am—just let me know,

It’s all I can help but hear;

I’ll pay a few more for you, just to

Make amends: I’m sorry the wounds—

They are so wet

For me, they’ll never dry; years heal little

Of the point—not for lack of girls

Or words

Or beer

Just how I feel

So I say

So I write

And you read, and you hope

I’d feel better

Or I meant not as I spoke

But I’ll always disappoint your heart

With what I say

 

My Sweet Bell, come,

Chime, but always tender, as a heart

So big,

To feel every stroke:

Of time

Of the heart so ravaged

I stoke:

This fire of love

So deep within us both

It exists, of this we’re sure,

And we can’t keep the secret

How it hurts,

If it is to be believed

Just as

Love is every film made in Nassau,

On cruise ships, in the sea

 

The war is words;

The battlefield a white page,

Blinking with a metronome of feeling—

Purpose—

A purpose, for you, Sweet Bell,

You read me so

Well

A purpose, for me,

I owe to you—

More than I could ever

Tell—(my knell)

 

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