|
Bitter-sweet nostalgia? |
|
Desire pulls hard, |
|
But it's too late. |
|
Dead are all my virtues |
|
And gifts. |
|
It dulls not any pains, |
|
And hard covet |
|
Reaps a poor harvest |
|
In these latter days. |
|
Starve me in |
|
Boneman torture. |
|
Skin-tight lover. |
|
Pound upon pound |
|
Of flesh paid well |
|
With gnawing ache, |
|
And hunger. |
|
But your want lies asleep, |
|
Under frozen layers of ignorance. |
|
Or even fear. |
|
Dressed in sacrilege, |
|
I sprawl in hurt |
|
? And wear thorns |
|
Just for you. |
|
Read my scars, |
|
Count my sorrows, |
|
But see me ! |
|
'Lest the cruel beauty |
|
In my song face the trial |
|
Of deaf ears. |
|
And that is truly worse than death. |
|
I dance in your spirit |
|
And sleep so well in your arms. |
|
Awake unattainable one? |
|
Awake? |
