The concave of your chest beneath
my cheek I'll never know again.
The spiral turn of ornamented eyes
I'll never see.

Your absent starry arms--this night--
have left me shivering and cold.
Your hundred kisses to my hands and lips
a waning memory.

We wish so long to hold another
dear and warm against our flesh.
And when they go--from the aches
inside our bodies we are never free.