A soul can want to be alone, more than anything at all
A heart can love a loneliness more than a lover's fall
To baste and marinate the mind in lonely interlude
And lick the fingers, one by one, in sultry solitude

A soul can want desertion more than anything it knows
More than the strong devotion of the lover that it chose
More than a true companion or a hand to hold at night,
A life can long to be alone against all wrong or right

What isn't you that beckons me when I do hear you call?
What calls me from some far-away to turn from you at all?
The love I give to you has seemed enough to fill your life
What thing calls out to me by name and cuts me like a knife?