The pitch blue still of night, dreary sameness of subtle subtraction, the pale residue of removal narrows me to less than alone, pulls me beneath the ruin of was, and drops me upon the broken promise of forever, in a restless drunken dream of us together in winter - when we were younger, walking slowly against an unthawed wind, hardly a shiver, two clinging hands - guiltless and whole. And I awaken to the dim hum of my room's quiet seclusion, and wonder where she sleeps tonight, wonder why our eager joining went so wrong - wonder if her delicate redolence was ever given for free? And if you've looked into the aching eyes of spent beauty, You've seen the sorrow I love, And if you've touched the bright side of demise, you've touched my troubled lover's bareness.