And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge
And fell to earth;
What did we expect?
All the books got it wrong
So I doubted it was real,
But after all this time
It must be—
Your soul is entangled in mine.
Surely by now we know:
It’s love; it is love—
But will there ever be good news?
Beneath torrents of spring rain,
Buds come to life –
And so do we,
Beneath torments of tears.
Love is suffering –
And that's the happy ending…
It’s strange how we endure
In a world of pain.
Sorrow binds us –
My only disillusionment
Is unspoken words.
Other women
I can flatter and praise
But you,
I must tell the truth;
So I send my words to you
Over the ethernet,
A message in a bottle
These words from vintage years…
So uncork,
And drink deep;
Let the consonants
And vowels
Tickle all the way down.