A memento of persona for it can be
A heart of gold, as ever as she
The taste of her still running deep
For an image yet so sublime
The heart knows rest but it can’t define
What other sorrows it can keep
Her loss of self came tumbling twice
Once to hope she thought could suffice
That hunger only made her weak
The slice of warmth, a shudder of skin
What is without is never within
Tilting just so to glance at thee
We talked of grandeur, the soul of bloom
My fetish for sun, your ache for moon
Wasting our two cents to the sea
A moment so passed, a moment so failed
We drank our cups to the nightingale
A toast more bitter than it was sweet
