There’s this hoped thing,
    AND it’s been crawling…

    Cadences lost in the ribs—
    The ribs that I could never,
    No never, touch.

    And this craft,
    It’s all I have—
    All I have left,
    To crave a feeling…

    Nowhere else is my steadfast guardian—
    In an angel-lost land killed
    Of sweet kindness serene.

    Closer is an ached Eden,
    When all is at
    Phoenix’s rest.

    Midnight tyrants (fall madly)
    Upon starry Rhodes,
    AND I could not find your breast,
    Elizabeth, my love-fed muse.

    I could not purse magic on your lips,
    But free me!
    From this misery-mischief ancient—
    Broke only
    To that cove of a thousand soul-beats,
    —A wicked fortune caught
    Blind by rebellious miracle.

    Desolate in ruins,
    I am fresh to your heart,
    As I lie at the bottom
    Of your blood-tide sea.