Come into me, lover of just my lips,
Embrace this withered soul and bringit life
Again. That cup of joy in which I sipped,
Before the world grew grey with unsought strife.
Perhaps if once upon the shores of skin,
Your waves began to chase and trail, torment,
A breath would surge forth from the dead within,
And make the white sands breathe forth their lament.
Therefore, meet me in the rages of the sea,
And push upon me with your broken lie,
You may push what’s in from underneath,
At once, perhaps, into you I will sigh.
But the curse of the unbounded undersands,
Was not made to be cured by unmeant-for hands.