Oh, beauty! Taken beneath, bed sheets,
Disrobed of tattered veil, and dewy flesh.
You were made holy, upon death’s ground,
Made for, the chambers of kings.
Softness is, concurrent, to your realm,
That which I pull myself, down to enter.
Disease made ready, on my pillow,
Kisses made plenty, among all sorrow.
Of futile gestures, and strangeness, in sighs,
I sweep you now, aboard a vessel, of a face,
A face of marble, with gems gilded, like rose!
Ivory, is your flesh, and sapphire, are those eyes.
There were terrible lies, made for the stone road.
And I stuck love, in its place, solid, and formed.