June 2012
7 posts
Exile
wwnorton:
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, — No, — nor my lips freed laughter since ‘farewell’, And with the day, distance again expands Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell. Yet, love endures, though starving and alone. A dove’s wings clung about my heart each night With surging gentleness, and the blue stone Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
-Hart Crane
