a joy seeps in. but not the joy you wanted.
you had no vision save the stains on your eye
from seeing  so much otherness.
it feels good. precisely where you felt nothing.
and night is an afternoon... for no reason.

what love does to an ugly heart
is well known, but not as real as the wish.
it surpasses the aspirations of a lonesome
and breathes where thin air is syrup
and a kiss.

it is a constant
in the void like a void.
where no hate can stay
and no gold can be
a fool.