Song: Let me do dishes

Verse:

Sweet moon and June is only part of the tune,
The first flush that possesses your brain
There's more to romance if we'd just take a chance
And celebrate all that's mundane.

I want to . . .

Do the dishes for you.
I want to mow the lawn.
I want to fix the hi-fi for you.
To be your shelter from the storm.
I want to do dishes,
Please let me do dishes,
I'll grant all your wishes,
To make your bed comfy and warm.

I want to . . .

Peel the spuds for you,
I want to sweep the floors.
I want to tune the TV for you,
To draught-proof your windows and doors.
I want to peel your spuds,
Please let me peel your spuds,
Soak my hands in soap-suds,
Get to like all your in-laws.

Yes we can trip the fantastic.
Yes we can walk hand-in-hand.
But love isn't only such drastic
Waves of sweet love's magic wand.

I want to . . .

Make the beds for you,
I want to burn your CDs.
I want to paint the walls for you,
To be just as busy as bees.
I want to make the beds.
Please, I'll make the beds,
I'll do all the housework you please.

Please,
Let me not only
Make love and love only,
To worship you from near and far.
So please let me do
All a true love can do:
Wash dishes,
Peel spuds,
Grant all of your wishes,
Soak my hands in soap-suds,
Sweep all your floors,
Get to like your in-laws,
Do any or all of these chores,
So you'll know that I truly love you,
Doing all that a true love can do.

27/08/08, 9.40am

I started composing this song in my head while doing the dishes (for myself)

and I thought how I'd much rather be doing them for my beloved.

Broken petals

I name her rosebud,
but really she's a whole garden.
She dances through the desert of my hungry heart,
and flowers blossom from her every fruitprint
like dewfall, like starfall.

Sometimes her pathway takes her over the hill
and I can no longer see her blossoming,
but the wind carries her perfume to me,
and I breathe her in like the Spirit of life
which inspired me on the day I was born.

Sometimes I discover broken petals in my pocket,
rich as the day she shed them into my arms;
I bury my face in them
and she is with me once again,
as if she had never gone away.

I lie abed of a Sunday
meditating upon the reality
with which she reddens the evening skies of my days.
I need these times of separation
so I may discover her anew.

And then to close my eyes in sleep,
knowing that whatever I may dream of and forget,
the sweet scent of memory will never be forgotten.

17/08/08, 3.35pm, Wortley Hall