the moon struts o’er the homes, while Starlight sinks
with gravity unto the windows. Do you spend
each night alone? for i am he who thinks
of you. perhaps the loneliness will mend
the agitated mind. one sleepy sphinx,
two histories. the snow is lost—a hand
clasps coldness tight. a kiss is just a jinx
with melted sugar pleasures. so we wend
our thoughts as drunken sails upon the sea.
i buried you in muttered Words—too much
the sky reflects itself. in wayward prose
the desert sings. &when you come for me,
your lovely angel hands so white to touch
my heart, it bleeds on them to stain them rose.