Dead Mens Love
There was a damned successful Poet;
There was a Woman like the Sun
And they were dead. They did not know it
They did not know their time was done
They did not know his hymns
Were silence; and her limbs
That had served Love so well
Dust, and a filthy smell
And so one day, as ever of old
Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee;
On fire to cling and kiss and hold
And, in the other's eyes, to see
Each his own tiny face
And in that long embrace
Feel lip and breast grow warm
To breast and lip and arm
So knee to knee they sped again
And laugh to laugh they ran, I'm told
Across the streets of Hell...
And then
They suddenly felt the wind blow cold
And knew, so closely pressed
Chill air on lip and breast
And, with a sick surprise
The emptiness of eyes
And so one day, as ever of old
Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee;
On fire to cling and kiss and hold
And, in the other's eyes, to see
Each his own tiny face
And in that long embrace
Feel lip and breast grow warm
To breast and lip and arm
Across the streets of Hell...
And then
They suddenly felt the wind blow cold
And knew, so closely pressed
Chill air on lip and breast
And, with a sick surprise
The emptiness of eyes