Is it really you?
Slip off the mask, sweet Love.
Plunge the sword again.
To "die before one dies".
All life is here,
at this still point of the heart.
Sustained by the desire for love ,
or was it the memory of love lost?
Look, now!
Your dark tresses fall.
Black birds startled from the trees.
Your white hand revealed.
The poverty of the moon.
The crimson blush in your cheeks.
The lover slayed by your looks.
I want to live,
I want to die.
Does this fading, soaring
please you so?
---b.

And the b mourned the loss of the R