When I compare my frame to other men:
I weep, and mirror's glass weeps for me too...

Shall I from heart reveal your grace in rhyme?
Your tenderness enthrals a love thought lost...

If love is equal to the fame it claims;
To fame it has no great monogamy...

I wonder which will greet me when I die;
The arch of angels or the scorching pit...

Intricate ruby currents emanate from your pupils
diluted from a pool of spring rosy essences...

When I shall die, in spring I will return
in budding maze of rainbow flowered plush...

When mind's own memoirs wither down to bone
then whom shall know my love in distant years...

Confession, me? Could I repent my time
And weary be, my pupils then to see...

Scouring walls
sanding hands...

It seems that rain drops are tear drops,
the downpour from the arborists' spree...

To whom would rush a wound from love, with love:
Let take a caution deep where your wound bleeds...

Take all the light until i'm out and deep
That I may linger where you rest in me...