I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen.
There is no space wider than that of grief.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream.
I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.