And should all of life's beauty come unscrewed
There would, my love, exist yet within us
The part which makes us whole; and being made
Would unhinge all the rest. Can you not find,
In youthful lover's face, some history
Some remenent of how I looked on you
And you on me? We're torn, my love, unfixed
My soul cannot be pinned; it is as yours
Twinned and soaring midst the rushing winds
Atoms of our beings married in air
And so, dispered, cannot be found or caught.
For dainty trifles you would this love break!
For bodily fulfillments and leave me
Blind without your light; deaf without your love
Mewling, wretched, lonely in the desert
Who empty, gutted hearts calls to her breast
As surely as you pushed me from thine own