To Have and to Hold

To peel the orange segments

of your lips

and sheave your leaves with paperclips.

Bronze is not bronze nor bold,

if I’ve not you to have and to hold.

Your starry eyes pull an eclipse

over my planet as it dips.

Your sun is warm and would not scold:

I long for fire and gold, sweet embers

of your fire and gold,

to have and to hold.

Your back arches across my night,

its milk like milk beyond milk-white,

and I fear you’ll leave my sight,

to never have nor hold.

And down the river I’ll be sold,

the stars for ever far and cold,

and the rouge cup, at which I’ll never drink;

neither had nor held, but proud to sink.

To peel the orange segments

of your lips,

and sheave your leaves with paperclips.

The truth by angels’ brass shall be foretold:

will you be mine, my love, to have and to hold?