I’ve kissed a thousand lips,
Rough as rocks, delicate as dew;
I’ve been drunk on a thousand sips,
Though none really tasted like you.
I’ve opened my mouth to each;
I’ve felt the passion in throes;
But something’s always out of reach –
Something only a heart knows.
I’ve taken essence, moist and dry;
But nothing remained for me to keep;
And, no matter how hard I try,
Though I keep sowing, I cannot reap.
Death comes to me in dreams:
The dead float like dandelions:
Shimmery and wistful it all seems,
While sleep binds me in irons.
The dark haunts me with forgotten smiles;
It whispers the future in my ear;
And all the past vainly beguiles,
For within it, there isn’t a single tear.
New dreams are dreadful and bright!
I can remember not even one!
In vain, I try to make love to night,
Under the eye of an unforgiving sun.
I have nothing left to write or to say;
The days saunter past secluded and dull;
And seasons filter with no fruitful stay,
Covering the wizened mind with a lull.
Love is all duty: all succinct and right,
It is almost clinical and pristine,
Like some haloed saint standing within light;
Who is correct, kind, practical and clean.
Outward, my life gleams and I look the part;
I cast envy. They say, I have it all…
If only they could see the heavy heart
And the scabbed knees after every fall.
I’m tired; seen so much; I have had my run
I’ve paid my dues; I am sated; I’m done.
Hearts Still Care 
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