I hold steadfast to my face a mask of sorrow-
how can i live without the braille of your touch?
the kind that inspired slack diction of the body,
neck to slope down, and O, my hunger, my hunger,
loosen these shackles,
let men rain down from the sky,
or give me a man with two heads
who has emerged from the bottom of a lake
so that i may place green apples in each mouth
without worms or holes, or the failings of love.
we could live by this green goading on
toss out the red toads, fat with tainted blood
forget about where these words go
once we have said them.

but if you should say that you love me
where does that leave me?