How Hard, How Desperately Hard, Is The

When You Came, You Were Like Red Wine And Honey, And The Taste Of You Burnt My Mouth With Its Sweetness.

All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords, You Can Cut, Or You Can Drug, With Words.

Rapture's Self Is Three Parts Sorrow.

Underneath My Stiffened Gown Is The Softness Of A Woman Bathing In A Marble Basin, A Basin In The Midst Of Hedges Grown So Thick, She Cannot See Her Lover Hiding, But She Guesses He Is Near, And The Sliding Of The Water Seems The Stroking Of A Dear Hand Upon Her.

Youth Condemns; Maturity Condones