lovers

The songs of separation Are not always full of painOften they talk of the fondnessThat flows in the lovers_ veins_

Before you came,things were as they should be:the sky was the dead-end of sight,the road was just a road, wine merely wine.Now everything is like my heart,a color at the edge of blood:the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns,the gold when we meet, the season ablaze,the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames,and the black when you cover the earthwith the coal of dead fires.And the sky, the road, the glass of wine?The sky is a shirt wet with tears,the road a vein about to break,and the glass of wine a mirror in whichthe sky, the road, the world keep changing.Don__ leave now that you__e here__tay. So the world may become like itself again:so the sky may be the sky,the road a road,and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

Heart__ blood and bitter pain belong to love,And tales of problems no one can remove;Cupbearer, fill the bowl with blood, not wine -And if you lack the heart__ rich blood take mine.Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,Which tears the soul, then knits the threads again.A mote of love exceeds all bounds; it givesThe vital essence to whatever lives.But where love thrives, there pain is always found;Angels alone escape this weary round -They love without that savage agonyWhich is reserved for vexed humanity.

Time after time, they brought each other to new heights of ecstasy, until finally, they lay spent in each others arms in the quiet peace and contentment that only lovers know.

Why, I've been all over the world, I tell you, and fairly loafed and lolled in every conceivable sort of ease and luxury, but the Soul of me__he wild, restless, breathless, discontented soul of me__ever sat down before in all its life__ say, until my frightened hand cuddled into his broken one. I tell you I don't pretend to explain it, I don't pretend to account for it; all I know is__hat smothering there under all that horrible wreckage and everything__he instant my hand went home to his, the most absolute sense of serenity and contentment went over me.

Q: Why do I love thee, O Night?A: Because you know I will never answer.

They took my booksbecause my message was love.They took my penbecause my words were love.Then they took my voicebecause my song was love.Soon they__l take myselfso nothing remains.But they don__ know that when I'm gonemy love will stay.

To lovers there.Most ladies the reason they are dumped and their relationship doesn't last is they made themselves to become a want than a need in a relationship.

How queer it was for two lovers to suddenly turn into strangers?

When your tears become invisible, disappear

If I was meant to be controlled, I would have come with a remote.

Profound thinkers either become astute lovers or rebellious spirit

The love of a half dead heart will keep you half alive

Spread the light of love in the spirit of purity of the soul.

Leave me alone,Do me a favor, abandon me,I want to think about,You me and the idea of forever.

He came to read; two or three booksare lying open: history and poetry.But after just ten minutes of readinghe lets them drop. There on the sofahe falls asleep. He truly is devoted to reading-but he is twenty-three years old, and very handsome.And just this afternoon, Eros surged within his perfect limbs and on his lips.Into his beautiful flesh came the heat of passion, and there was no foolish embarrassment about the form that pleasure took..

Whatever I learned,Whatever I knew,Seems like those faded years of childhood that flew,Away in some dilemma,Always in some confusion,The purpose of this life,Seems like an illusion!

Nor that he's regarding my face with the same intensity I am his. We're two paintings staring at each other across a room.