Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Close your eyes
and imagine a kiss
filled with longing
and passionate bliss
Feel my hands
about your waist
see if you can
my yearning taste
And as intensity
starts to grow
Hold me tight
don't let me go
Pull me closer
to your breast
see if this dream
will pass the test
If pulse has quickened
and cheeks have flushed
then follow this dream
to me you must.

Prepare to feel better and worse than
                You've ever felt before
      It's not easy, at times you will seem
                                          Completely and
                                                       Utterly
                                                                                                                                                                 alone
                              But there are the other times, times
                                  a unique sense of belonging warms
                 you up from your very core because
                                                                                                     no two people share the same love, it
                                                                                                      is a creation they each pour
                                                                                                             their hearts into, and life
                                                                                                     is hard so love is too
                                                                                                                      and at times you won't
                                                                                                 know what to do but
                                                 in the end it's
                                                          alright
    


                                                                   In the end it's alright

1632

So give me back to Death—
The Death I never feared
Except that it deprived of thee—
And now, by Life deprived,
In my own Grave I breathe
And estimate its size—
Its size is all that Hell can guess—
And all that Heaven was—

Why are you glowing red hot
But cool to the touch
And send heat through my heart
But chills down my spine
Goose bumps on my arms
And sweat on my palms
What temperature are you, exactly?

I thought
I know—

I'll write a poem about another love,
one of those boys from
one of those poems
that I wrote
before you,

and in doing so
I will ease this ache,
I will appease
the part of me
that just wants
to be wanted,

you know?

But, no—
I couldn't conjure their kisses,
nor did I want to.
They were just 
boys from 
those poems
that I wrote
before you.