A caress,
    A captivating touch,
    A smile gone.
      Unmissed
    But not resented.
    What remains?
     The burden
     Or the freedom?
    That I no longer wish
    For such affection.

My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

you deserve a novel,
but these words suffice:
you thief.

I hardly speak of what I know, instead of what you need to hear,
A silent whisper, a furtive word, I utter into your ear.
I stole the bough of happiness.
I won the chance to change your fate.
And from this trough of scrappiness,
Springs forth the seed of hate.

You hath not strength of mind to speak of love you so desire,
So I’ll make haste and burn the bush, then pluck you from the fire.
I’ve lost that want of happiness.
But the power rests in me,
To send his favour back to you,
And content the heart of thee.

This love you need seems absent now but I’ll take it from the shelf,
I grant this gift of such treasured hoards, I save none for myself.

And thy heart begins to melt.

I thought there would be a grave beauty, a sunset splendour
In being the last of one's kind: a topmost moment as one watched
The huge wave curving over Atlantis, the shrouded barge
Turning away with wounded Arthur, or Ilium burning.
Now I see that, all along, I was assuming a posterity
Of gentle hearts: someone, however distant in the depths of time,
Who could pick up our signal, who could understand a story. There won't be.

Between the new Hembidae and us who are dying, already
There rises a barrier across which no voice can ever carry,
For devils are unmaking language. We must let that alone forever.
Uproot your loves, one by one, with care, from the future,
And trusting to no future, receive the massive ******
And surge of the many-dimensional timeless rays converging
On this small, significant dew drop, the present that mirrors all.

Fading clarity
Gaping iregularity
Rapid decomposition
A crumbling postion
Fear and anger fuel the fires
As they unravel the knot of desires
A purely toxic entanglement
The wounds were allowed to ferment.
Now we are slowly dying
Of this there is no denying

The Grave said to the Rose,
"What of the dews of dawn,
Love's flower, what end is theirs?"
"And what of spirits flown,
The souls whereon doth close
The tomb's mouth unawares?"
The Rose said to the Grave.

The Rose said, "In the shade
From the dawn's tears is made
A perfume faint and strange,
Amber and honey sweet."
"And all the spirits fleet
Do suffer a sky-change,
More strangely than the dew,
To God's own angels new,"
The Grave said to the Rose.