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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=577649" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Pallet Of Your Burning Sun</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=577649" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The horses this time sleep standing up, Erin; <br>And my scars have switched sides once again like girls<br>Skipping rope, <br>Sending fibrillose and vibrant shadows once again over<br>The estuaries of their deep and rich<br>Graveyards: The sky above them is first blue and then purple, <br>The same way I saw you out taming your yards: <br>I saw you jogging like an angel floating like a fish beside my<br>Car, Erin; and it doesn’t matter if you do not love me, <br>Erin: I am not a boy to be employed by your love: <br>I am a vagrant and truant of love. While I have tasted the lips of<br>One of my muses, that’s all that she allowed me while<br>She returned from my swingset to her husband, and now where<br>Do you think I am standing, Erin, but out in the burning <br>Opulence of your son: <br>I am down in your opulent grotto with my toy gun, Erin: <br>And I don’t want to go empty handed on Halloween or Valentines<br>And you are the only one, E- E-<br>You are the only one and the sky is first blue and then purple<br>Underneath the pallet of your burning sun.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a></strong></div>