Quaint Heart

 

 

Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

All men who have loved in pastime assault

Act lonely now, believe beautiful

 

Black befores come back to us by heart—

Cameos charming as stars, if sleep counts.

 

Death, dirge cut without music, dull bit part,

Edges its knife towards forgotten glass.

 

Indifference is still fashionable—

Justice (kin to stone, grace) just as keen to

 

Let lit punchlines crash this animal ball,

Low-tide memory cast midnight mist,

 

New moons as wise, no matter what light says.

Overheard: Poor people build their houses

 

(Pretty pueblo plots) por un prayer, song…

Remember pity, our last rendezvous, _______?

 

Say what you will… time does not bring relief.

This door you might not open is mine.

 

Underneath, we explore what lips have kissed:

Wet, wild with wine, white lies, my valentine

 

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