Dead Men's 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
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
in the other's eyes, to see
Each his own tiny face,
And in that long embrace
Feel lip and breast grow
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 . .
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.