Although my love's made for joy I taste black ashes at my lips; For I am pining sick in love And love is all my remedy. 5 For love but wounds to cure By wounding giving cure, cured to wound again! I am an apostle of that ecstasy And still cannot the deadly sweet Of love's maddened sweat forget. 10 Such is love's mystery When we lie abed Who would give heart's cure Must first stitch heads. Though love is brief, on my hurt I meditate 15 And find all ill who all-wished for sweet; One heart, my own, unowned Like a drop of salt-sweet spray Cold oceans of feelings shows. Oh still to be a human thing alone!
From the collection "Adoring Thorns"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.