Long solace
Seems to drink me
Of my bitterness,
My compassion.
Under the darkest moon,
Where coldness is against my burned skin,
Where once was a love’s phantom hand,
Where once was the touch of someone
Who had never been.
Love dreams
Like everything without urges
To constrict
The heart, to a small size.
Love enlarges
The heart to the size, of any pale sun.
I am slow to imagine
Your face, and its grace
For accompaniment, in my place
Among Hell’s wastes.
I have seen my own,
And it is worth forgetting.
Modern Romanticism 
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