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Fastened to this heart are the words you speak,
They rattle in my ribcage, fighting for release --
So much I cannot hear you anymore.

Wrapped around these wrists are all your movements
Constricting any bloodflow to my fingertips.
It is worthless to touch you -- I know this.

I could continue with the others; how I taste and see
And come to know the violence of your beauty.

It is a cruel aromatherapy, and it goes to show
How worthless are the senses to understanding
A likeness such as you.

You can only be your similarities
From sequence to stillness I find myself lost
In time or space encryptions;

With transformation collecting transformations --
Such a sweet memory --
I cannot fight you, or the others. And here
On this parkbench, I am bound
To learn something about the summer.

To know the sun, you must shade your eyes from it;
To know your pride, you must sleep.
Something in the sun predicts a tragedy.
For the joyful life can only end that way
Upon these city streets.