My soul out in a burning mist
My body in the worst of dens
To feed it and forget it, the leaves among it
Silence with that murmur, the swung wicket
Its a broken hearted nemophilist
Here
The neck your mother's arms caressed
A handful of blossoms I plucked
Hands ******* and darkened
Great black spots where the blood has run

When we were rich in the crevice
We had our bodies burnished
Night shacking up, so we've furnished

Not a plenteous sort of season, time of year
Blue-black, lustrous, masculine eyes
Barricaded by trees, fields, and grime tears