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Love at the
lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once
that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed
me from sweet things,
The flow of- was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I
had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when
I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that
stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not
dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave
the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too
much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning
clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away
my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and
strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my
length.
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