heart of my heart
flesh of my flesh
the merry bell tolls,
cries tinkling chimes
of young laughter

I sink in the depths
of your pestle, mortar,
delicate dripping lips
the hours are now years
hazy and blurred

of swaying breeze, and
careful steps; flighty
translucent limbs splayed
out in the sunrise of
pale moon eyes

shadow, shadow
I breathe in this now
exhale the rest, leaving this
heart in your trembling
willowy hands

(A.H.Z)

The sense of the world is short,
Long and various the report,—
To love and be beloved;
Men and gods have not outlearned it,
And how oft soe'er they've turned it,
'Tis not to be improved.