I'll make another weak attempt-
To give my lips an anfacturous twist;
To hide the tremor in my eyes:
Refuse freedom: resist.
My lips will trace another silent inkling
Of syllables, that sound may not reconcile,
And I'll flutter, in another futile struggle
Against gravity, and all its ties
I'll shrivel my eyes, until they consent,
To let go of your alabastrine skin
To retract to familiar lightlessness
And realize, happiness is just a whim
