If I could reach your heaven with my language born in hell;
profound profanity to give to try and touch your soul.
Without intent to damp your light with darkness I know well,
come feel my leaden love that needs your hand to turn to gold.
Your laughter kindles comfort greater than these lines should tell
or I'll slip and whisper three small words too strong for you to hear.
So let your light and love shine in my solitary cell
that I perpetuate to keep from deafening your ears.
The highest virtue I could give from hunger I can't quell
distorts into a vice too base for you to comprehend.
To stave off soul's starvation: crumbs of thought on which I dwell;
the haunting consolation of your voice calling me friend.
Alone - with words alone expressing what I could dispel
if I could reach your heaven with my language born in hell.