We have called Hell away from us,
Indeed, we have.
We have omitted the pain from our future,
More than once.
A little thing like pain has roasted our worn hearts,
Until they both scramble to embrace the other,
Acting with arteries as limbs,
And blood as something to taste.
I am in love with a woman
Without so much as a hue upon her cheek,
During when she is overcome in a certain heat,
The heat of survival.
The beauty of it,
Is next to nothing,
Because she seats herself,
Next to nothing.
And for it,
I wish she would quit it.
The little things she’d say
That my mind forces itself to shun,
Have eaten up the day.
I see only the night,
That will murder this sight.
I have seen,
What cannot be cleaned
From a woman’s heart.
A moment-by-moment concern,
To pass through Hell,
And not see what Heaven has for itself,
In the confines of marriage, itself,
Of love and its decor, for simply ourselves.